Oh god, the time is coming round where I will once again be embroiled in potty training. Last time was awful, Max literally shat his pants every day for 4 months. FOUR MONTHS.
People would be looking at me in Safeway as I walked round with a screaming baby attached to me thinking (I imagine), “Poor woman i wonder whats wrong with her baby. Oh and look she’s got a retarded 6 year old too, see how he’s shouting that he’s poohed himself? Yes I can smell it too. He has. He has poohed himself, right next to the bakery too.”
Pulling off shitty underpants in the staff toilets of Safeway and wiping the resultant shit smears off the massive toddler’s legs is not something I’m massively enthusiastic about re-living
It has been said to me by many that potty training a girl is easier. Well, we will see. So far she has been doing a bit of practise sitting on the potty, prodding her bits and going “Where’s my willy?” and has devised an excellent song which goes: “Willy, willy, yeah yeah yeah!” I will try to get Dan to record it, I think it is better than pooh smell (Max’s song).