A Clean Break

As you know, I am a fairly non traditional parent.  I get stressed about things, but not the things most parents seem to get stressed about.  Potty training is a case in point.  My theory was; ‘The easier it is for all involved, the better.’  This meant me waiting until they were ready to do it, rather than setting my own agenda.  We used more nappies, certainly, but all my children transitioned from nappies fairly easily, with only a few hiccups along the way (the less said about Oscar dumping in John Lewis carpet department the better I think).

I employed the same inattention to weaning and dummies and bottles of milk, all with the same kinds of success by and large.  I’m not saying it’s the right way to do things.  I’m saying it’s the lazy person’s way to do things.  And as I’m lazy, this worked for me.

I have however, hit a small snag with his lordship.  His lordship junior that is.

One of the things I have always left until last in the efforts to give my children the skills they need to go to school as independently as possible, is wiping their bottoms after they have evacuated their bowels.

Again, this is entirely down to laziness.  I had much rather wipe it myself, however unpleasant, than spent four hours scraping excreta out of the wallpaper and hosing down my child with a Karcher pressure washer.

I speak from bitter experience.

Oscar’s time has now come.  It is proving an interesting battle ground.

The first issue is his in built arrogance, which is still taking its imperious toll on our relationship.  My friend witnessed him in action the other day and said to me: ‘It’s because he’s so used to having you to himself and you giving him what he wants.’  Now I love my friend dearly, but she is clearly thinking of someone else on the whole ‘you give him what he wants,’ front.  Those of you who have seen my parenting skills in action can testify to this.  I am a bit of a dragon mummy.  Sometimes my children get what they want, but they work hard for it and have to remember their p’s and q’s or they get big, fat nothing.

What is fascinating about Oscar is that despite this, he persists in acting as if he is definitely going to get what he wants.  His tenacity in the face of outright denial is quite amazing to watch.  Where the girls would always give up trying after a couple of wheedling attempts, he will spend a good half hour trying to find ways to crack me.  My mum is convinced he was born with a well developed arrogance gene.  I think the word ‘male’ was popped into that sentence somewhere before the word arrogance.

The second issue is his constant desire both to still be a baby, and to be a big boy.  This is causing him and me both a fair amount of headaches.

With regards to the wiping thing, I mentioned it to him a few months ago, that it was time he started doing it for himself.  He flat out refused, because he wanted to still be a baby.  There was a mutinous look in his eye.  I kept my powder dry.

A few weeks ago I returned to the subject with another weapon.  Bribery.  I explained that if he could do this task by himself, and keep doing it, after a few weeks of proving to me how wonderful he was at it, I would buy him a new Mario game for his D.S.

This has spurred him on to great efforts.  Although only if I remind him.  His default position is to still holler from wherever he is: ‘MA  MAAAAAAAA! I finished my POOOO  OOOOOOOOOHHH!’  Which is my cue.

Yesterday he shouted it to me.  I shouted back that he should remember to try himself first.

He did.

He did great.

As I was being what he calls so charmingly; ‘The pooh judge,’ I said to him; ‘If you keep this up for another week, you will have earned your D.S. game.’

He was utterly thrilled, and was chattering away about it for ages.

After about twenty minute I had a bit of a brainwave.  I turned to him and said:

‘You do know that when you get your D.S. game, you will still have to wipe your bottom every day afterwards, don’t you, or it goes back to the shop?’

He looked at me in total horror.

‘But why?’

‘Because big boys have to wipe their bottom every day for the rest of their lives.’

He was outraged of Broughton Astley:

‘But that is what you are there for, mama!’

I pointed out that dadda did not have someone on hand to wipe his bottom for him at work (I’d like to see them try), and that there was a time when all good men should rally round and wipe their own bottoms.

‘But I don’t like wiping my own bottom.  It’s icky.’

I explained that I did not like wiping his bottom either, and that I had seen enough cacky bottoms in my time, and that I felt that I had done my bit and it was now time to pass on the toilet roll to others.

He was astonished.  Absolutely astonished.  He simply could not believe that I did not like wiping his bottom for him.

He continues to be outraged.  I think it’s going to take some days for this news to sink in.  It’s been a major shift in his world view and he needs time to adjust.

Life can be so shocking sometimes.

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