Princess Pissypants

Ol’ Pissy Pants is killing me slowly.

If you’re searching the internet with poo smeared curtains and the washing machine constantly cleaning bed sheets; this is not the ‘how to guide to toilet training’ you might be looking for. Rather, this is the ‘how to get through to the other side with your sanity and family unit still relatively in tact…maybe…hopefully’.

Toilet. Training.

Two seemingly innocent words independent of each other.

But put these two words together and they are likely to instill the fear of God in you. For those of you who have taken this freakin’ joyous rite of passage, did a little chill just run down your spine? Were you cast back to your worst toilet training disaster? Supermarket? Car seat? Bath? Play group? Friends white, carpeted lounge room? All of these? We are well into our second week and I am tired. I know it’s ultimately worth it, but I feel like my brain is constantly tuned in to every breath she takes, every word she utters, every expression on her face. And that makes mummy all work and no play. I nearly slammed the brakes and hit evacuation mode when we sailed down a suburban hill in the car the other day, and she gleefully sung out, “WWWEEEEEEE!!!” at the top of her little lungs. Sweat broke out immediately when I realised I wasn’t in a position to pull over. Then her brother joined her as they happily sailed down hill and my brain rebalanced(ish); as best as it could.

But here is the thing.

It is a roller coaster ride, and I have never been one for riding those damned things. I have been on this particular ride before with her older brother and the wheels nearly came flying off.

Initially, you think nothing can be worse than changing another nappy, so you grit your teeth and fly in all positive and determined. She is ready for this. She is very toilet aware. But the kicker for me, is she is starting to look too old to have the bulk of nappies in her pants. You move into lock down. Sure, it’s only for a couple of days, but with two small kids, that is FOREVER, and results in much, much wine being consumed of an evening as Mummy is stir crazy, too.

Stickers? Wall charts? Crap advice. Didn’t entice her in any way whatsoever. Let’s face it, stickers are not quite as fantastic as they once were, so no…she doesn’t want crappy star stickers. So we moved on to the main game; M&M’s and marshmallows, with a special biscuit (Daddy’s stash of Kingstons) for poo. This got results, my friend. And her ‘support staff’, AKA her older brother, was most satisfied with this sweet deal. The major problem here, is now my daughter is knocking back more lollies than actual ‘food’, and is running to the toilet for a sit whenever the sugar pang strikes. A couple of drips and it’s a win. Week 2 and the demands are increasing…”Only 2 M&M’s???? Muuuuuummmmmm,” accompanied by an eye roll, if not a more serious on the ground fist smash.

Day 1 saw me in my own PJ’s willing the darkness and the blessed relief of night nappies. A giant bucket was soaking many, MANY pants, and I thanked the heavens for the guru who told me to buy a stack of cheap undies and just throw them out when the BIG disasters struck. I became a creature who slapped on a fake smile and did little sing-songy, jaunty numbers, to get her to the bathroom. Because I was oh so desperate to ‘normalise ‘ this giant step, I was beginning to sound like a kids entertainer in the most ‘abnormal’ voice…rhymes, ditties, jingles, dancing; WHATEVER the hell it took to stop pee on my floor. Is the step where I sing for her to ‘shine her gine’ with toilet paper going to haunt her down the track?

For what it’s worth, we are definitely through the worst, despite her latest, screaming tanty refusal to wear her Princess Pants (night nappy) over the last few nights. We decided to roll with it and I am proud to announce that the one wet night so far, I managed to sleep through…the Husband had her changed and resettled and I missed the whole show. A-freakin-men. This is me, who hears when she rolls over at night; miracles DO happen.

And so, folks, the roller coaster keeps on bumping over the tracks, and I am holding on for dear life; waiting, waiting, waiting, for this damned ride to stop.

But wait….

No nappies.

Imagine my world without nappies in them.

Freakin’ Utopia! Crack out the fairyfloss.