A 3 year old boy is sat on the toilet floor enthralled by an avant-garde theatre performance, a bowl of strawberries and melon chunks between his legs.
Also in the audience are 11 pirates and 5 vikings, all plastic, all armed with axes and cutlasses. Usually sworn enemies the pirates and vikings have called a truce while they both enjoy this inaugural experimental performance. This is an interactive piece, members of the audience chat to the performer asking questions as the artist performs her work which is provisionally titled: ‘Mummy shitting’.
Yes folks! Potty training is back and this time it’s penis shaped.
Every year newscasters report on the busiest travel weekend of the year illustrated with footage of airport queues and traffic jams, not once has the news ever covered the other summer rush. School holidays are also peak season for small children pissing their pants in public as a national wave of potty training gets underway.
Right now someone, somewhere, is trying to work out the best way to get urine out of a shaggy rug.
Wait til summer it’ll be easier! they say
It won’t. And you know it won’t. But you wait anyway because summer seems so far away and you’re secretly hoping the magic potty training fairy will visit before then.
She missed me out last time so maybe this time we’ll get lucky. I shouldn’t complain. My daughter toilet trained herself with no need for rewards, demonstrations or hourly warnings.
My son, it seems, is a different kettle of piss.
For two weeks now I have been staring at his genitals every hour monitoring his output to ensure it is delivered correctly to the right place.
It seems only fitting, smiling encouragingly at a penis is what brought my son into this world. There were no chocolate frog rewards for doing that bit though.
Many, many Freddo frogs have been consumed, every time my son has emptied his bowels a chocolate frog has died – either Eeh Bah Son triumphantly bites poor Freddo’s head clean off or the poor amphibian is anxiously nibbled to death whilst Mummy puts yet another wash on.
We are moving forwards, for the first week I spent a lot of time wiping wee from my eyes, crouched down in front of my son cheering him on I was not aware of the simple ‘finger on penis’ manoeuvre, because guess what? Mummy can pee hands free without showering the whole bathroom with piss.
It’s one of my many talents along with potty training or giving birth or breastfeeding stood up whilst making dinner with one hand. All skills I have mastered as a mother which are now totally redundant, just as I’ve cracked them at the second attempt I have no need for these skills ever again.
Unless I have another baby. Which is never going to happen, especially not now my business end has performed for vikings and pirate captains.
If anyone knows the best way to treat a wee sodden shaggy rug please get in touch. And best of luck to anyone else joining the summer time rush to ditch the nappies.
May your sofa cushions stay dry!