A different kind of Carnival

So Sparx at Notes from Inside My Head is running a Carnival of Poo next week.

Obviously I have got to get involved with this one; it would be against the trade descriptions act if The Potty Diaries didn't participate. I did think of writing a completely new post about this wide and varied topic for the newbies to the whole Poo experience amongst us (Dancinfairy and OMG Pregnant, you know who you are). It would probably cover such fascinating topics as;

'What is a Backer'? Answer; new born poo that shoots half-way up your cherub's back and which necessitates the use of at least half a packet of wet-wipes in the clean-up process. You think it's bad until you discover the answer to the question...
'What is a Necker?' Answer - see above, but substitute 'neck' for 'back', and just hope you have an extra packet of wet-wipes and a change of clothes for yourself as well as for the baby.
'How to clean your baby's poo-ruined clothes effectively.' Answer; get your mother / mother in law to set to with the Ace Bleach, or alternatively just get rid; you'll be given far more clothes than your baby can ever wear in the first 6 months of their lives anyway...

But then I thought, no. Why take away the magic for those who have yet to experience it? And so instead I've gone through my archives and have dug out the diary entry below which, whilst it is not specifically about poo - more about the expectance of it - is a snapshot from when I was potty training a nearly three year old boy whilst also looking after a 6 month-old can be...

(And yes - I have edited it and tidied it up from the original post. I am that sad.)

August 17th, 2006

This morning I found myself on my hands and knees before 9.00am clearing up the first puddle of the day. I decided drastic action was needed and bundled the Boys into the car to make the trip to Baby Central; Mothercare in Chiswick Retail Park.

The omens for our trip were good when it only took an hour from the moment of my decision to leave to actually getting both little angels strapped into their car seats; double-quick time, something of a record.

However, I did wonder whether my speedy departure was such a good thing and if I should have done a mirror-check before leaving the house, when I got there in my oh-so-fetching combo of birkenstocks, paint-stained jeans and Boy #2 puked-upon t-shirt to find it full of just-so Richmond mummies who usually shop for their cherubs in Gap. Just occasionally - and this was clearly one of those days - on finding themselves looking for a bargain in TK Max, they take a wrong turn and flutter like unexpectedly exotic butterflies around Mothercare, beguiled by the 2 for 1 offers and the baby-changing facilities out the back...

Once inside Mothercare’s brave new world, I gave Boy #1 a mini-trolley to push. He promptly ran it into the back of my ankles, and we headed straight for the potty section. After the ankle slamming incident I let him go first… I don’t need telling twice.

I then gave him instructions to choose whichever potty he wanted, and after giving it much thought and test-driving a few (with his clothes on, I might add), he selected what I can only call a 'throne', complete with Winnie the Pooh branding. An apt license, if I say so myself... But just to be sure that the reason for our trip had sunk in, I also let him see me buying a few pairs of training pants. Apparantly, if you are nearly 3 years old and at all concerned with your appearance, these are the sartorial equivalent of the brown Clarkes shoes our mums used to force us to wear when all the other 9 year-old girls where wearing white courts. (Even though the court shoes made the daintiest feet - which mine were decidedly not - look like a duck's, I still wanted them…).

Amazingly enough, under the ominous threat of the awful training pants, the throne has been used 3 times since we got home (along with, I suspect the bath – but one step at a time), and in a real milestone, was once actually requested, so am keeping all my fingers and toes crossed that the trend will continue tomorrow.

But Pooh has still not seen any poo, so I am now panicking when – and how – that is going to arrive...