It turns out Tracey and I have a different idea of what constitutes success. Mine is wrong.
“We’re nearly there,” Tracey told me excitedly when I came home from work. It seems Miss2 is, just shy of her third birthday, on the cusp of being toilet trained.
This is a big thing.
No more nappies would mean more money for other things. Not better things, mind. Because nothing comes close to being better than keeping wee and poo off my floors.
But in real terms (beerenomics) we’d be looking at a carton a week.
So I was excited by this news. But less so by the follow up information.
“Twice, she realized she needed to go and ran off the balcony,” said Tracey. I was expecting her to indicate Miss2 had run to the toilet. But no. She ran the other way. “She squatted on the lawn and pee’d,” finished Tracey, like this was super news.
So it seems despite six other people living in the house, all of who use the toilet regularly and without fuss, Miss2 has decided to copy the dang dog.
But there was more.
“And then,” said Tracey, like she was coming to the best bit. “She did a poo.”
“On the toilet?”
“In the yard,” she said. “I found it over behind the table and chairs.”
“How do know it was hers and not the dog’s?” I wanted to know. “And anyway,” I said, indicating the lawn, “how is this progress?”
“Because,” said Tracey, spreading her hands as if to say it was obvious. “She went and got toilet paper from the bathroom.”
Yep, in the middle of our lawn was a lovely turd topped with bum tickets, and suddenly I’m seeing Tracey’s point: our daughter did a poo and wiped her own bum.
Now it’s just a matter of aim.
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When not here Bruce hangs out at his Big Family Little Income Facebook Page.
”Raising a family on little more than laughs.”
