Misadventures in potty training

Monday morning. Mid-January. Potty training begins. Again. But this time I’m prepared. Dozens of tiny underpants and dry leggings wait in the wings, Caillou’s Potty Time has been a regular feature of story time in the last week, and I’ve stockpiled patience.

 

According to a brief Google search, potty training can be done in five days (or less) so I’m motivated. The young one is not motivated, so I’ve filled a childproof Kilner jar with chocolate buttons. This time I’m adding bribery to my potty training tool belt.

 

At first the child is pleased with the fashion statement her underpants make. Then she grows suspicious at my fast and free use of the word ‘potty’. She tells me she is cross, and when I ask why she tells me that her potty is “too bluey”.

 

I leave aside the debate on the merits of the colour blue and bring out my pièce de résistance. Her eyes gleam at the sight of the chocolate and we have an argument about the terms and conditions required for receiving a treat.

 

The potty disappears while I’m vacuuming. She has hidden it in her bedroom. I retrieve it and come back to find her with a handful of buttons. With pride she informs me that she is a big girl – she opened the jar all by herself. 

 

I repeat that the chocolate is only for when she uses the potty, and now, motivated by the intoxicating taste of sugar, she tries out the potty. Nothing happens.

 

We’ll try again soon, I say.

 

Two minutes later she tells me she’s all wetty. Her trousers and socks are soaked through and I accidently kneel in a wet patch on the carpet.

 

Three hours and five outfits later, we get the timing right and she takes a well-earned Button from the jar. But her enthusiasm for the process is increasing as mine wanes. What’s so bad about nappies? I ponder, eyeing the increasing pile of wet clothes and damp patches on the furniture.  

 

This is where the bribery proves vital, and I give myself a chocolate.

Daisy Wilson is a freelance writer who lives and works in West Cork. Mum to an almost-teenager and a toddler who is striding through the terrible twos with a glint in her eye, life is noisy, fun and covered in fingerprint marks.

 

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