Going potty and other blandishments

Wino, when I was pregnant you made the comment that you were looking forward to my feedback about toilet training.

Well, here 'tis :-)

The generally accepted modern wisdom dictates that parents should not rush to toilet train their offspring. The days of holding a newborn over a potty and timing it went out with the ark (apparently.. sorry Mum!). One is now supposed to wait until the child is able to recognise bladder discomfort and/or release, is able to verbally communicate, is able to robe and disrobe (at least the lower garments), and shows an interest in things toiletty.

Oh. Right. Well Brae doesn't make a heck of a lot of sense yet because he's a lazy little sod when it comes to enunciation. And until recently he has resisted the urge to dress or undress himself (or indeed, allow anyone ELSE to change his nappy or clothing).

But all that is changing. Heh heh.. a measure of how fast things change can be illustrated by what Brae did at kindy today.

Wayne went to collect him at midday, only to be told that Braeden was taking a nap in the sunny reading area. Wayne approached, passing a little girl leaning over the railing and gazing intently at our son. Cute? Read on...

Braeden was indeed lying in the sun, but he was a long way from sleeping. He had removed his shoes, socks, trackies and nappy, and was having a marvelous time, a self-indulgent time, if you follow my meaning.

Wayne went incredibly pink, and so did the staff. (You should know that I heard about this over the cellphone when I rang from the supermarket to ask what the family wanted for dinner. Collapsing in uncontrolled mirth over the trolley, alternately gasping for breath and dimly screeching in hysterical laughter made more than one co-shopper decide against buying mushrooms after all).

I think the kindy staff were thanking their lucky stars that that was *all* Braeden was doing (one other kid proudly self-pottied one day - outside!- when the teacher's back was turned for a second. Imagine such an outage in the reading room!)

Wayne, however, being male & self-conscious was just plainly mortified. Amused yes, but it was a definite "would the ground please open & swallow me" moment.

Remind me to hog-tie Wayne to a chair & make him read some modern parenting books. Kids do this. Hell, kids do worse! At least he hasn't tried finger-painting with poo.

(yet)

I guess I'll be the one handling the facts of life chats. If I can keep a straight face, that is. I seem to have developed an over-active giggle gland. And opportunist that Braeden is, he plays to this maternal weakness every chance he gets. Make your mother laugh, and chances are you'll get off lightly. You might even get off scot-free. So either Mr Shy mumbles his way through the "How To's" or Mrs Lunatic snickers and chuckles her way through it.

Oh yes. I can see it now. I'd better start a trust fund for Braeden's future therapy.

So the upshot is, Brae is now two-and-three-quarters,
chatters like a magpie but in a language I haven't quite cracked yet,
is growing up tall and lean,
still detests sweet stuff but can sniff out cheese faster than any rat,
still rarely sleeps through the night,
can count to thirty-something or to 100 in groups of ten,
can sing the alphabet song with hardly any goofs,
wears size 4 clothes and bigger-still shoes,
has all his baby teeth,
has the best laugh I've ever heard,
has thankfully outgrown head-butting but unfortunately has learnt how to shove,
has yet to discover the delights of a finger and a nose entwined,
loves jigsaws (45 + piece ones), drawing, dancing and now singing
still plays his keyboard every day,
and is now big enough that Dad is his absolute hero.

What a ramble! But at least it's a check-in. Seeing as I've sacked my two most demanding clients, I might be able to get some breathing space (between child, study, work and -gasp- life) to update more often.

Got some neat pix.. Thing is, I am just not allowed any Me-time to work on the computer without Braeden or Wayne coming in to drag me off. Even exam-crams were continually subject to a grimy paw firmly attaching itself to my hand, and an earnest wee face saying "Cmhere, Mum", dragging me off to play with him or to read a story. (And that's if Dad's around supposedly "babysitting"... If Dad's at work, then it's Mum-and-Braeden time, and to heck with work, the world and whatever).

But I'm not grizzling :-) Sure, I had to do some very skilled multitasking during pre-exam week, but I got 89% in the course exam thus retaining my A+ average, and yes I did ruthlessly employ the answerphone and mail-filter :-)

I also lost most the contents of my swat-cards when a person of short stature decided to enrich them with lots of colouring in. But what I could read looked really pretty!

Photos to come ;-)