Week 250- potties, poo and pissing on the table...

I had forgotten how 100% disgusting potty training it.

I think it’s like birth.

Your brain cancels out the pain; otherwise you’d insist that your child wears a nappy until they turn eighteen.

It’s not just the that wee and shit gets EVERYWHERE.

It’s the number of times a day you find yourself saying in a loud shouty yet trying to be encouraging voice, ‘do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo? do you need a wee? do you need a poo?’ whilst chasing a two-year-old around a packed playground with a potty.

But that’s all part of the job, right?

That’s part of the pay off of having these little creatures who love you unconditionally and think you’re the best thing ever.

What is not part of the deal is your little boy climbing onto the kitchen table when you’ve left the room for less than two seconds and weeing all over the table whilst your five year old is eating her breakfast.

Seriously?

Pissing on the table.

‘What are you doing??’ I ask in total despair.

And his response?

‘You’re my best friend.’

It’s like living with the drunk friend who is a fucking nightmare to go out with, but always manages to charm you round the next day even though they’ve ripped your favourite top they’d borrowed without asking and puked and missed the loo in the shared bathroom.

If this is him at age two, what do the teenage years hold?

Kill. Me. Now.