Dispatches from Dadland by Mike Reed

'How's the potty training going?'

That question again. Well, it’s going brilliantly: in just a few hours, little Oscar had us beautifully trained. Wendy has graduated to Advanced Trouser Washing, and is a black belt with the wet wipes. Meanwhile, I’ve completed an intensive course in Carpet Stain Management. Few can match my speed or dexterity with the maxi-can of Vanish – even when Oscar, keen to challenge me further, attempts to kick his way through the fresh white foam as if it was a Christmas snowdrift.

To be fair, Oscar is learning fast too. He quickly grasped the fact that the briefest of spells on the potty produces instant biscuits, custard pots, or a favourite DVD. He’s discovered that his parents, who’ve read all the right books about positive reinforcement, and had all the right late-night arguments about giving up and letting him wear nappies into adulthood, will bust their guts to cheer the tiniest spot of toddler wee-wee in (or even just near to) the potty.

The real problem is that we’ve been duped. Tom, Oscar’s older brother, took to the potty almost instantly, dismissing nappyhood in about three days. ‘This is easy,’ we thought to ourselves. ‘Why all the fuss?’

It turns out the fuss is because of children like dear Oscar, who will happily sit in his own waste products for hours on end, rather than use any sort of receptacle. Children who couldn’t care less about Their Own Special Potty, or how many stars there are on their charts, or Being A Big Special Grown-Up Boy.

Oscar’s just not interested. And the indifference is the worst thing of all. How do you fight that? He likes reading all the books about potties, and he picked out a bright pink Fifi & The Flowertots potty for himself. (The campest toilet appliance I’ve ever seen.) But he has zero interest in actually using it.

He’s no fool: he’ll sit on the damn thing to win a treat, but only for the minimum time necessary. And usually without producing anything at all. (He saves that up for the moment your back’s turned, and he’s standing over the cat.)

We’re currently on our third attempt at winning him over. He’s three now, and thanks to his August birthday will be starting school next year. It really is time to crack this. But still we seem to spend more time on our knees with kitchen roll and damp sponges than we do attaching stars to his chart.

My own mother keeps telling me, as mothers will, that ‘You don’t see any seven year-olds in nappies’. But as I watch Oscar go trotting happily by, his smart new pants bulging at the back and that familiar aroma filling the room, I can’t help but wonder if he might just be the first.

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This piece is also appearing in my local (Dorking) edition of the NCT magazine, 'The Stork'. Syndication - this is the big time.
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See more of Mike's writing at Reed Words