Six months ago I offered the boys a bag of sweets for the first to have a poo on the toilet. Sonny’s response was along the lines of he wouldn’t get out of bed for a bag of sweets, let alone balance above a bowl into the abyss. I knew this, but with the school term fast approaching I needed something to get him to the negotiating table. And so began our longest and most protracted discussions to date. Six months. Six months in which a bag of sweets had become Lego, a new game for his DS, an ice-cream, and a toy of his own choosing. Oh, and a gold-plated Haribo pension.
This week, finally, the deal was signed; and as the obligatory high-five that seals all our deals was still echoing around the bathroom, he threw himself onto the toilet and followed through (sorry) with his side of the bargain. Now call me cynical, but I’m pretty sure that within that first bout of straining I heard him mutter the word ‘sucker’. If I find out he’s been using the toilet at Nursery for months without telling me then the Hot Wheels track is going back.
Now there’s no stopping him. He’s so proud of his new trick (his words) that each occasion has to be applauded. And not just applauded. He also insists on a guard of honour and a high-poo-five as he skips out of the bathroom. Each sitting is also accompanied by commentary; it’s become the Directors Cut of toilet training. Good to know that should I ever forget how my bowels behave then at least I’ll have a self-proclaimed master of the (f)arts close at hand.
Next it’s Luca’s turn; just not before I’ve had a chance to save up for another round of ‘Poo’s Win Prizes’.