Tuesday, August 02, 2005

The TMI Files. Oh, poo.

Let's jump right in here.

Toilet training. A dirty, trying, time for anyone associating with young children in the western world. There are plenty of cultures out there who think you are a complete nufnuf if you can't get your kid trained by 6 months, but here in oz, it doesn't quite work like that. We tend to take a bit longer.

After much despair on my part and blissful ignorance on the part of Miss Magilla, we've got it all pretty much under control. Nappies for nighttime and that's it. The rest of the time, it's the potty or the loo.

The real fun is starting now with concepts such as "privacy", "modesty" and I won't bother with humility, since I'm not well known for an overabundance of that quality myself.

When the little one is in the loo, I have to depart the scene. I get a lecture on leaving her alone to do her business and coming back to see the final result. The kicker for me is that it doesn't go both ways.

I'm all for a scatological sense of humour, but Magilla discovered last weekend that I'm not just ticklish.

I'm very ticklish.

It was bad enough when she would join me in the small room and try to clamber up on my back. That was distraction enough.

When she finds out that poking me just there reduces me to an hysterical pile of giggles, then I'm doomed. Nothing gets accomplished. Nothing.

Well, we did provide amusement for everyone else at the party, so that was something.


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