Julie Jay: Reluctant to push potty training as it’s my last roll of the diaper dice

My reticence in potty training my youngest can be somewhat explained away by my refusal to accept my baby is growing up, despite what the calendar is telling me

So far, his view of the potty is the same as most of us view gyms — something that is great for other people, but not something he’s going to choose to incorporate into his routine at this current moment in time. Picture: iStock 

Many things fascinate me about Canadian comedian Katherine Ryan. She is hugely talented, of course, is ageing backwards, and the boy who broke her heart at 16 ended up becoming her husband, a fairytale which just doesn’t play out in real life unless, of course, you are a hugely talented comedian who is ageing backwards.

But another fascinating fact about Ryan is that she successfully potty-trained all her kids before the age of one, insisting she did so by observing cues and placing them on the potty from when they were weeks old.

Between that and her ability to outwit almost everyone, it’s just more reason why being in a WhatsApp group with Ryan is my biggest fear. By these standards, my two-and-a-half-year-old is way behind, but still, a part of me feels getting him out of the nappies is a little premature. After all, in my mind, he was only born a few months ago, so what’s the rush?

Still, we have succumbed to societal pressure and are currently potty-training Number Two, with absolutely zero progress as of this morning. So far, his view of the potty is the same as most of us view gyms — something that is great for other people, but not something he’s going to choose to incorporate into his routine at this current moment in time.

This is not to say Number Two is a fan of the nappy either. He loves nothing more than whipping it off and running around the house and peeing wherever he fancies — the shower, the bathroom floor, mammy’s library book.

I know I should be coming down harder on the potty training and drilling it into him a bit more, and I certainly would have been a bit more militant in my consistency when it came to Number One saying slán go fóill to Pampers (or their supermarket own-brand equivalent, because despite our near identical physical attributes, Vogue Williams, I am not).

If I’m honest, I think part of my reluctance to really insist on the use of the potty is the fact I know this is my last roll of the diaper dice. Once he’s all trained up, I’ll never need a nappy bag again.

Gone will be the days I am cursing myself and anyone who has ever had the misfortune of encountering me in a service station toilet somewhere along the M7 because I’ve once again forgotten the wipes or the Sudocreme. I will never again be putting Sudocreme on a bum and performing Soviet Union level of gymnastics in a baby-changing room while bellowing at my five-year-old to please, for the love of God, not to unlock the door, as mammy hasn’t even pulled up her knickers yet.

Once this baby is done with the nappies, we are all done with them, and while this will make our life infinitely easier, it also fills me with a little sadness.

Perhaps that is why I’m not pushing the issue, though I need to get my act together before Number Two hits up naíonara in September, because there only potty-trained toddlers need apply. The Leaving Cert has the CAO system, while naíonaras have the toilet-training system. Both systems are equally rigid but also create a level playing field: either you put in the work, or the scenic route to third-level education awaits.

I, for one, could not in good conscience live with the guilt of knowing my failure to toilet-train Number Two has prevented him from studying medicine, or, if he follows in his parents’ footsteps, crisscrossing the country as a travelling minstrel and being remunerated with free ice-creams and beer vouchers.

While he’s still in his nappy, he’s my baby. My tiny little guy.

Whenever I come across a puddle of wee in the sitting room, I am basically a CSI investigator, because the culprit could be either the baby who isn’t toilet trained, the cat who is getting increasingly forgetful as to where the cat litter tray is located, or my husband if he doesn’t want to miss his favourite TV programme .

Some people would resent wee in their sitting room, but I love a challenge, and solving this puzzle is at least more fun than Sudoku.

I’m not saying I’m going to miss the poonami explosions, the burst nappy-pants, the endless, endless mountains of waste I have been contributing to the hole in the ozone layer. But I suppose being toilet-trained marks that the passage of time is undeniable. That we will never reach this milestone again.