The title of this post is somewhat misleading. I’m not really toilet training Chaos at all. She’s training herself. I don’t have a choice about it.
Chaos is a very different little human to her big brother. She has a lot more confidence in her physical capabilities than he did at the same age. A lot of that is no doubt a second child thing, as she has grown up watching him run around and now wants to emulate everything he does. Everything. Jumping, climbing, running, eating. If he can do it, so can she. Even when she can’t.
Hurricane is an expert toileter. Hopefully soon he’ll start wiping his own bum and put an end to his commentary of my efforts, which typically involves him telling me to keep trying because I’ve missed some. But anyway, Chaos obviously believes her time has come too. Unfortunately she decided this without telling me.
I was putting clothes away in our bedroom when it happened. This is a very rare event in of itself, and I’m not actually sure I’ve done it again since. As I stood there shoving my thinning underwear into my drawer I hear Chaos’ little voice say ‘Daddy, poo poos!’, followed by the pitter patter of her little feet heading in my direction.
She runs into the bedroom starkers. Well not quite starkers. She’s got Hurricane’s red Bobux shoes on. A former flatmate of mine liked to pull that trick too. We’d all be ready to head out and he’d say ‘hang on I just need my shoes’, at which point he would duck into his room and then emerge wearing only his finest leather plods. Very few visitors escaped unscarred.
I was slightly confused as to how Chaos had picked up this trick, but of greater concern to me was whether she needed to do poos or had already done them. That question was answered when she spun around and took off again, with the ominous smear up her crack giving the game away.
I found the nappy in the hallway. It was empty, but with a whiff of recent action.
So this is what my life had become. One day you’re running a press conference on the outcome of a major business merger and then next thing you’re playing find the poo.
I asked Chaos where the poo poos were. She gave it some considered thought and then pointed at the toilet. There were obviously no poos in the toilet. For starters the foot stool wasn’t there so unless she picked them up and threw them in it was never a goer.
I asked Hurricane if he saw where Chaos had been playing. He was still angry at me for not letting him watch Octonauts so just ignored the question.
I knew what I had to do. I had to sniff it out.
Logic said it was either in the lounge or their bedroom. I cleared the lounge first. All good. Next, a careful examination of their beds. No poo.
I got down to floor level. Hands and knees. I picked up a scent. But then I realised Chaos was standing next to me so the environment was already compromised. I shut her in the cupboard.
At that moment I knew where I would find it. Chaos is a creature of habit. She has two favourite spots in our apartment. Both of them are windowsills.
And there it was. A tidy little mound sitting on her bedroom windowsill. To this day I don’t know whether she took the nappy off first and put on a public show, or just emptied the nappy on the sill and then ran off to find me. BB likes to think it was the latter, but I remain unconvinced.
A week later the same little voice and pitter patter of feet. Looking up at me with her big brown eyes she lifts up her hand and says in her sweetest tone: ‘ere you go Daddy’.
No need to go find it.