Maisie Mouse and Trinkabell: Poo-Machines

Little Miss Phoebalina Ballerina has just recently begun the exciting process of toilet training. Although I know many children begin this journey around the age of two, neither of us has been particularly fussed to start any earlier. Apart from anything else, the complicating factors of a new baby sister, the unsettling emotions following our home invasion, and the move into Grandma and Grandpa's house have all managed to put potty-training onto the back-burner. However, within the space of a week, Phoebalicious turfed the dummies (something we were dreading, as she was practically a high-dependency unit all by herself) and decided she wanted to wear undies like a big girl. And I have to give her credit, as she surpassed the potty altogether and went straight to sitting on the big toilet. As a matter of fact, the majority of this past week has found Phoebs sitting on the toilet, doing a million teeny-tiny wees and using enough toilet paper to bring a tree-hugger to tears. She loves the whole process of removing her undies, dragging the stool across the bathroom, singing whilst sitting, washing her hands with far too much soap, and doing it all over again, ad nauseum. We haven't quite progressed to number twos on the toilet yet, but I would have been stunned if we'd reached that point already.

During our gorgeous day with Gertrude and her boys yesterday, it became apparent that Phoebs was having a few...ahem...issues with her bowels. Rather than dealing with the problem in one fell swoop, we received little parcels no less than five times whilst visiting our friends. By the end of the day, I had cleaned my poor little girl up about eight times, and it was clear all was not well in her tummy. Still, she soldiered on, insisting on removing her nappy to go to the toilet despite a red raw botty. Today we were once again catching up with Gertrude and her little family before they went home from their holiday. I had hoped we would bring fewer brown smells to the group than yesterday, but no. This morning, in addition to my potty princess having frequent visits to her porcelain throne, Maisie decided to add her tuppence-worth to the stink in the house. So I pretty much ran from pooey nappy to pooey undies (and then Jack joined in and I had to wipe his bum too!!) several times, until all I could do was laugh. This afternoon, while dressed in her 'Trinkabell' costume, Phoebe giggled, "Mummy, I'm Trinkabell Poo-Machine, aren't I?" Obviously that's not a moniker I would use in public, but it was still pretty funny (and pretty apt!) I think Maisie surpassed her big sister at the end of the day, however, by filling her pants with such supreme effort that it came out of the neck of her skivvy. And no, I'm not exaggerating. And yes, she did laugh - a great big belly laugh that continued long after her emergency bath!

I am crossing my fingers that Phoebs feels a lot better in the morning, and that her bottom starts behaving. She has been so excited about being a big girl and using the toilet, I want her to experience the success she deserves. With any luck, things will improve and we'll go back to running off to the bathroom every ten minutes with glee, to produce a trickle of wee-wee. And then, my only problem will be getting her out the door to go to tomorrow's playdate...