Don't Touch My Willy!

As my two angels lie sleeping their joint ear and chest infections off upstairs, I thought I'd enjoy a coffee and some peace to describe a mortifying moment last summer when I was potty training my youngest (then aged 24 months).

It was a typical Scottish summer's day - blustery winds, heavy rain showers, then blistering sunshine as we drove up to the Blair Atholl International Horse Trials in Perthshire.  I was solo with the two toddlers and it was a long drive full of sticky fingers, ribena going everywhere, an episode of car sickness and of course mushed up biscuits stuck to their cheeks/noses/eyebrows and all over the car seats. 

The horsetrials proved a test of my will for potty training which was only on day 7.  I am not one of those mums who slips on a pair of pull up nappy pants for those 'difficult' days, so there I was, two small children, one completely falling apart second hand Phil and Teds pushchair, one enormous hill to climb and a backpack full of changes of clothes.  After 7 days potty training, my youngest was getting it, but though the basic concept of needing to pee outside of clothes was gradually being understood, the difference between "need to pee" and "Oh whoopsie, I am peeing right now" was definitely not clear and I was sure it was going to be an 'interesting' day out.

All went reasonably well (surprisingly so) until the end of the day at 4pm ish when we decided to get chocolate crepes to eat before getting in the car for the long drive home.  As we stood in the queue Patrick shouted "need to pee" (at 24 months he was pretty good at talking, which I was grateful for!)  But there I was, in a long queue for chocolate pancakes which I'd been standing in already for 15 minutes, and no sign of a portaloo.  So, with his increasingly urgent cries for needing to pee, I left the queue, wheeled the boys to the side of a bin RIGHT NEXT to the queue, pulled Patrick out of the pushchair, yanked his trousers down, pulled his pants down and had that very awkward moment when you have to uncurl their willies which are all curled up and stuck to their legs (so they don't pee up / down their legs/ all over their clothes).  So, whilst I was already intensly aware of all the eyes of the people queuing for their pancakes on me, I was then completely mortified when he yelled "DON'T TOUCH MY WILLY MUMMY" and if until that point my actions were going un-noticed, they were now in full spotlight of about 50 people.  Mostly in their teens and twenties and none with kids.  So, crouched over my two year old, holding up his willy which I had been aiming at the bin, I completely froze.  And slowly, quietly, pleadingly I whispered "come on, have a wee!" but no, he was not prepared to endure the gaze of so many people and I had no choice but to dress him up again, put him back in the pushchair, return to the queue (mortified doesn't quite describe how I felt) and then nearly died when two minutes later, he wet himself. 

I still waited in line, I bought those pancakes, I left the queue, head held as high as I could and walked off to find a bench to feed the children and change the little one's clothes. 

No matter how prepared you are, it can all go wrong!

But, none of that was as bad as potty training day three when he shat all over my foot in a car park.  Now that was awkward.