Houston, we have a toilet training problem. The Baby Girl is a pooer!

There really can be no denying it anymore.

It’s a filthy little secret, and I so hope you’ll keep it hush hush, but Oh Lord please help me. My Baby Girl is a pooer.

I’m absolutely and totally cool with poo being a normal bodily function and a (hopefully) regular by-product of food consumption and trust me when I say that no-one likes a good poo joke more than me but, crap of all craps, toilet training a two and a half year old is painful.

Her two older brothers were a toilet training dream when I sit back with a peg on my nose for a minute or two of reflection. Gorgeous Middle Young Man, almost 13, only participated in one poo-painting escapade when he was a toddler lad and – as a babysitter wore the joy of his project that day – I was totally unscathed. Phew! Big Boy never, ever pooed anywhere other than on his potty or in the toilet and so nothing, I mean NOTHING could ever have prepared me for the poo treats that Baby Girl is flinging my way.

Has your gag reflex engaged yet?? Well, if not, just wait ….

Forget swords, semi-automatic machine guns or missiles, Baby Girl has discovered the power of using poo as a weapon and it’s a tactic that means war has been well and truly declared. I shall not let the poo win.

On THREE occasions now, so it can be no way of a coincidence this precise series of events has occurred … Baby Girl wants something. Mum says no. Baby Girl stamps feet and wails. Mum says no. Baby Girl drops bottom lip, skulks off and squeezes a turd into her undies (or onto the floor) and then leaves Mum to scrape up the mess, risking an overdose of Pine O Clean and Glen20. Yuck.

I have discovered very undelightful and unwanted gifts in my wardrobe and would you believe on my bed (that one nearly had me vomiting) – a certain sign that Baby Girl had been and left her calling card. In just the past week she has proudly presented Daddy with a hand delivered poo-ball (her words, nice hey?!) and has singlehandedly redecorated the bathroom – poo smeared on the seat, on the bowl, on the wall and guess what, it’s an amazing substitute for hair gel! (Dry retch here if you like, I did!)

She’s great at racing to the toilet for wees and does so without reminder or assistance. Such a good girl! But training for the  Number Twos is not proving to be any joy at all. Just this morning was a no-warning-nugget-in-the-undies experience and once again we had our usual conversation:

And she knows *exactly* what she’s doing!

 

Mum: “hey, where do we do poos?”

Baby Girl: “in the boys’ toilet!”

Mum: “good girl, where don’t we do poos?”

Baby Girl: “no mummy, not on the floor”

The poo WILL NOT WIN though and I shall be googling my little fingers off for strategies to beat this – I think I’ll try anything but promise to stop short of a cork! Any suggestions and bottles of disinfectant will be gratefully received.

 

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