>> Wednesday, 29 August 2007
August 21st, 2006
As a sign of how far we’ve come in the ‘portable family’ stakes, we went out for brunch this morning with friends. How very civilised…The only hiccup was when Boy #1 – plainly in need of the potty, hopping around like a rabbit and clutching himself in a Rod Stewart styley – refused to use either the portable potty or the loo in the disabled toilet. I had visions of vast quantities of wee engulfing the floor of the restaurant and being shunned by polite society for the rest of my life, so did what any self-respecting mother does in that situation. I sent in his father. Who of course got a result in less than 2 minutes. The phrase ‘a word from me and he does as he likes…’ keeps echoing through my head.
But... No pooh at all today. Am hoping for a result tomorrow morning like the one Husband got on Sunday but somehow I doubt it will be that easy. Spoke to a friend at the weekend who said that during her 'potty-training hell' (her words, not mine), she ended up frantically stalking her son around the house as he disappeared to furtively produce poohs – in places other than the potty, of course. Our flat isn’t that big but really don’t fancy games of hunt the pooh… unless we’re talking about the stuffed bear variety, obviously.