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Sunday 24 July 2016

Poo-mageddon: the end of the world as I know it

I have poo in my hair. I have POO in my HAIR! And it isn't even my own poo, not that that would necessarily mean an improvement in my situation.

There is also poo on the floor, on the bath, on Little O's hands, his legs, and guess what, a small amount on the actual bloody potty.

This was not the plan. This was not supposed to happen. And somewhere in the midst of this carnage, my brain is trying to fathom whether I can call this progress. But before you call for the men in white coats, please let me provide some context.

Little O isn't potty trained yet. Despite me putting it off and putting it off, it's something both S and I know we need to get onto.
He's coming up to three and I know it's not the end of the world and there's still plenty of time and, as my mother in law always says, no child starts school in nappies (though you do sometimes hear stories). But I did always have in my head that I wanted him trained, or at least well on the way there, by the time he starts preschool. Which means I have given myself a personal deadline of the end of September. And its nearly the end of July already - crap. Where has the summer gone?

Anyway, at least we are prepared. We have two pottys, one upstairs and one downstairs. The very trendy book I bought, tells me to have two of the same colour so the child doesn't develop a preference. Sod that. There's no way I'm driving all the way to Ikea to find one in the same shade of lime green as the one Nana Wales bought for us last year. Not happening. And so far, colour has not been the issue, timing has.

Over the last few weeks we've had a few scheduled nappy off sessions. At first he didn't like it and kept petitioning for the nappy to be returned to its rightful place, but now I think we may be getting somewhere in that respect. According to the book, another key indicator of readiness is apparently when the child can tell you he needs to do a wee or poo, or tells you he has done one, as it shows awareness of the action.

Ha. Does it count when your son appears at the side of your bed at six a.m. claiming to need a poo and wanting to go on the potty? Surely yes! This is what happened to me recently, and my heart danced a samba with the belief that he was finally getting it.

Taking him into the bathroom, I bring forth the potty and pull down his pyjama bottoms. At this point, my nostrils send a signal to my brain that all might not be quite as it seems. I rip his nappy off.

Argh! I've been deceived! He doesn't need a poo because he's already bloody done one. His ass is brown.

"I sit potty, Mummy, I sit potty!"

If he wants to sit on it, that's good, I think to myself. If I tell him not to, I might make him feel like he shouldn't, and that could put his progress back.

"On you go, then," I say. He sits down, then immediately becomes upset that his potty is dirty and so stands up again. He points at the poo, loses his balance and grabs the potty to steady himself, getting it all over his hand in the process.

"Oh no!" he exclaims. I try to calm him by taking a tissue and try to wipe it off his hand and then off his bottom. This, he does not like.

"No wipe! No wipe!" He shouts and rubs his hands on his thighs, spreading the poo further down his legs. I try not to look like I'm about to vomit. He's now running around the bathroom, grabbing onto this and that in an attempt to escape my tissued fingers.

"No, Mummy, no!"

I'm trying with all my might to calm him down but it's quite unbelievable how quickly a situation can spiral out of control.

The potty gets flipped over in the commotion and more poo is spread across the tiles.

"It's ok," I coax, and reach out to restrain him. Big mistake. He takes my open arms as invitation for a cuddle and runs in, pooey fingers waving, and it's all I can do not to have them wiped over my face. Little arms swing around my neck while his fingers grab my hair in a vice-like grip.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I came to have poo in my hair.

Mouse Moo Me Too


  1. Gah. There comes a point as a mum when you think you can sink no lower, yet there is NOTHING you can do about it. On a couple of occasions I've been covered in so much shit from the toddler (back in the early training days) that we both ended up in the shower. Grim. Good luck with the potty training, this too shall pass! Thanks for linking up to #Chucklemums xx

    1. Thank God for anti bac, that's all I can say!
      Thanks for the comment!

  2. Ah, so this is what I have in store! Mine is just two and starting to maybe, possibly be showing some (though not an extensive range) of the signs he may be ready. I will be "enjoying" a few of these escapades I'm sure. #chucklemums

    1. Ah good luck! I wrote this a few weeks ago. I'm actually trying to hide the potty now to get him to go on the loo instead!

  3. Oh god, this made me laugh so much (sorry!) Kids are so gross. I was lucky with both of mine and they both "got" toilet training pretty quickly. My youngest does occasionally regress, though, and the other day he decided to fish around in his potty and smear shit all over himself. Luckily I was at work and it was my poor mum that had to deal with it....!

    1. Haha oh poor her! My baby is still only little but he's giving his big brother a run for his money (excuse the pun). Hmm, I feel a 'Poomageddon 2' coming on...
      Thanks for the linky #chucklemums

    2. Haha oh poor her! My baby is still only little but he's giving his big brother a run for his money (excuse the pun). Hmm, I feel a 'Poomageddon 2' coming on...
      Thanks for the linky #chucklemums