The day had finally arrived. The one I’d been looking forward to for the last two and a half years. The day I could finally breath a great sigh of relief that I would never again have to change another wet or smelly diaper. Let the ceremonial burning of the nappy begin.
Freedom and liberation for all! The time had come…
Indy went on the potty…HOORAY!
He also went on the carpet, the tiles, in front of the fridge, under the table, on the couch, behind the couch, over the heat vent in someone else’s house, in his pants, on my pants, in his bed and on his bed. Though never in a sneaky I shouldn’t be doing this fashion, but always with bold confidence and a spring in his step. Mind you, that could just be the mandatory shaking of the last drops. Which only leads to one conclusion…
He should wear pants more often.
Alternatively, we’re gonna need a bigger bowl.
To place this in the context of the animal kingdom, if he was a lion marking out his territory, the only place I’d be allowed to roam freely…is the top of the fridge. Which is not an easy place to access for either of us. There could be spiders up there. Plus, in such a confined space, it wouldn’t take me long to go stir crazy at all. Never mind the cold draft up my trouser legs every time the freezer door gets opened. So, clearly we need to source a better solution, and quickly. I already feel ‘the lads’ starting to turn blue.
But a solution is easier said than done as Mumma rightly pointed out, “You know, you’re 44 and you still can’t get it all in the bowl.” The truth hurts…sniff.
And that’s just the liquids. I haven’t even touched upon the solids. Well, that’s not exactly true. Many is the time I’ve found myself at the sink up to my elbows in surging hot water, scrubbing the bageezuz out of a soiled pair of tiny jocks with a clothes peg on my nose. And those were just mine!
It’s a tricky area this potty training. I had suggested rubbing his nose in it like you do with dogs and cats, but then, I don’t want him digging holes in the yard or clawing the sides of the couch to shreds, which may or may not be in direct retaliation for such a horrendous act. So, we’re going with the positive reinforcement approach. (Funny how I just swung my first in a positive “you can do it” action when I typed that).
We’ve tried stickers, chocolates, jelly beans and cuddles. All to terrific success with me. And if we can only get it to work on him, we’ll be laughing. It can certainly be frustrating when he’s gone through 3 pairs of jocks and pants in the space of an hour, but it’s hard not to laugh when he smiles at you with that angel halo saying, “No change my jocks…me squish.”
Bahahaha! Mate this was piss funny (pun intended)
Piss funny! Maybe that’s the problem? It’s all too hilarious and he’s just pissing himself laughing. The jokes on me…and the carpet…and the chair…and the bean bag…