Toilet Training

These are amusing anecdotes from my experiences in toilet training twin boys.

When I started writing these down, it was a much darker piece. The opening line in my second draft was:

Toilet training is probably the worst thing about having children.

This was a more positive tone than my first draft, which began:

Why can a dumb animal like a cat learn to use a litter tray over a weekend, yet my children are still waiting to put on a nappy so they can shit themselves instead of using the toilet after seven months?

Then this week, it all started working! No accidents. No nappies for afternoon sleep. Going to the toilet when asked. Going when not asked.

I don't know how. I can still offer no advice on successfully toilet training children, even though it is mostly done. The whole experience has left me with more questions than answers.

If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you.

But now these are all lighthearted moments that I can look back upon and laugh!

Until the eight-week-old is a toddler at least.

1.
Initially the hardest thing with toilet training was that they wanted to go at the exact same time. We bought two potties to accommodate this. They've been used about three times each before they decided they wanted to use the toilet only.

Then the novelty of sitting on the toilet wore off, and the hardest thing was getting them onto the toilet at all.

J would kick and yell as you dragged him into the bathroom. Then when on the toilet he would angrily mutter, "I don't want to use the toilet". He would say this even as he was peeing in the toilet. When you pointed out that he was using the toilet right now, he would scream at you "it's not wee wee!"

2.
At this stage I can confirm that in my household we call it wee (from the doodle) and poo (from the bottom, or bum). We probably should've gone with the correct terms, like penis, but that ship has sailed.

3.
Accidents happen. After awhile, I would argue they were often "accidents" - deliberate acts of rebellion and possibly spite.

One time R refused to go the toilet before bed, then proudly announced that he had "done a poo" about six seconds after his overnight nappy was securely in place. When his mum tried to explain once again that he should really use the toilet, he looked directly at her and said, "mum, you just have to deal with it." He then grinned so broadly he just about swallowed his face.

4.
One time when I picked the boys up from daycare, R was in the bathroom getting changed into a new set of clothes. His educator, for my benefit, asked him what he had done. He proudly said, "I did a wee on the green and on the blue and the yellow!". That meant he had walked around so much while soiling himself that he had stained three different areas of the brightly coloured carpet in the play area.

I asked him, "why did you do that?"

He replied, "because I was weeing." I don't think he understood the premise of the question.

5.
We probably wasted a lot of time doing half-hearted toilet training, where you do it in safe places like home and school, but avoid doing it on car trips and some public places.

It was only when we went for it 100% that it really started to work.

Having said that, some of the public experiences are very embarrassing.

I took the boys to the disabled toilet early on a Saturday evening at a child-friendly club. It was at this moment that J decided he would voluntarily poo on a toilet for the first time. And never stop.

After holding up five fingers and exclaiming "I did three poos!", he kept at it for at least another ten minutes. I stopped counting how many children he had dropped off at the pool at eleven. At that point I began to worry he was trying too hard and would do some internal damage.

Meanwhile R touched everything - from the sanitary bin to picking discarded paper towel off the floor.

When the ordeal was over, I was telling J as we returned to our seats how proud I was of him for going to the toilet. I must have been doing this loudly as a lady passing by said, "I'm proud of going to the toilet too."

6.
Another time at home, I was providing the usual positive reinforcement about being proud of R for going to the toilet. He replied, "you can't be proud of me, I only did a wee. You can only be proud if I do a poo."

7.
Other than praise, there have been the following incentives (in order): cheap star stickers, cooler stickers, outright bribery with lollies, then upgraded the bribes to chocolate (for poos only).

J asks when he is doing a poo whether he can have a "Fremo Frog". He always can! Even if it's in the middle of dinner, therefore ruining dinner.

8.
The same night of the never-ending #2, I later took R to the toilet on his own. The venue was now in that weird space where there are still families and children lingering on, but it's a proper nighttime venue too with some very drunk people.

This time the disabled toilet was occupied. Since I only had one kid with me, we went to the gents. But all the stalls were locked except one, and when I pushed the door on it, it hit the man inside who was peeing with the door open on the arse. After apologising, I was wondering what to do, as R was busting.

Then I looked at the long trough urinal on the wall, and thought, let's try this.

R had peed standing before on a step at the home toilet, and it worked okay. So I quickly explained how the urinal worked much the same way. He listened attentively and nodded. He was ready for the challenge.

I pulled his daks down to his ankles and turned him to face the wall as he said, "I'll just do it like that man over there!", and pointed at the sketchy guy in the far corner.

I tried not to laugh and said, "also eyes front and no talking". I'm sure the instruction was not understood.

Now I always knew this was a risky move but it was only when he was actually weeing - the point of no return - that I truly understood the error I had made. What began as a strong stream rapidly started heading south towards his own legs and pants. I told him to thrust forward, meaning his hips, but he bent his knees instead, making the situation worse.

When he was finished, I got him to wash his hands. Then I began attempting to clean the urine on his undies, pants, socks and shoes, while wondering whether it would've been easier and less messy to have him wet himself. 

It was then I also discovered that R is afraid of hand dryers that make loud noises.