Imagine me sitting on a little blue kids chair facing the front of the toilet, the toilet that smells consistently of the wee of 3 kids (and has probably had a hundred different people wee in it, the house is like 30 year old after all). I am constantly yelling “for fucks sake” because I’ve stepped in a puddle of wee in my fresh socks once again and if you mess with my matching socks I’ll get cross because matching socks are rare in my home. So sitting here so close to that wee is not my idea of nice (unless you are a form of bacteria which I’m clearly not).
My 2 almost 3 year old daughter Little Flea has her little arms tightly grabbing my shoulders, she’s crying tears of pain, of frustration, she’s devastated that she needs to poop and she’s been holding it for days, but she has to poop, she must poop on the toilet because she’s toilet training and the promise of a pink My Little Pony is too much to bare. At first we were holding hands, her little face pressed up against my chest, her tears wetting my top, she’s crying “mummy” and the look on her face breaks me. We then graduate to full birthing position, me, a 30 year old woman sitting on a teeny blue kids chair, Little Flea in her pink ‘princess’ dress with the full tutu, her arms tightly wrapped around my neck. I am suddenly transported to the future, where I am there with her at the birth of her first child, her arms around my neck baring down and birthing her first child as she cries and looks me in the eyes and says “Mum, I can’t” but I know she can.
Back in reality she tells me “Don’t talk mum!” when I try to soothe her tears and “Don’t look at me!” if I even try look up at her to see how she’s going, of course, not like I’m trying to help or anything. This is a full hour long battle to get her here, on this toilet, she ran around the house crying frantically and screaming “owwwwwwww” for an hour at home and about an hour at my aunt’s house before that, the drive home had us convinced she was going to ‘let it go’ in the car (something Wheels was absolutely disgusted at the thought of and when we stopped to get petrol), of course she had to use the toilet there but turns out, there was no toilet, of fucking course. And when it’s all done, we don’t get to celebrate or make a big deal because she hates the attention for doing something she hates so much, one does not bring attention to a job well done with Little flea, she does however demand to see what it looks like and Batman walks into see me and her crouched over the toilet with 2 small incense sticks pushing the toilet paper out of the way so we can see this delight of hers because I know I have to go to such lengths to show her the poop that she feared the most because if I don’t then I will fear she will never poop in the toilet again.
I’ve never had to do that before in all my years and frankly I’m a little disgusted in myself, I feel dirty and germy because the pizza we ordered will be here any moment and I was just on a date in the toilet with a anti-poo demon.
Magically and very oddly toilet training my daughter has brought me closer to her, she’s growing up and she needs me to help her do that, her genuine devastation in the whole situation makes me feel for her, she thinks she’s not ready even though i know she is but you know what Little Flea? Pooping really is a real inconvenience and it is gross and I know that, I get you. And when she’s running around screaming like a loon holding her bum it is outrageously sad and adorable at the same time, I can’t help but be a little bit proud that my baby, isn’t a baby anymore.