My toddler did not poo in the baby pool last night. Oh no. It wasn’t him.
My toddler is probably the noisiest child here. It’s easy to learn where he is just by cocking your head and opening your ear. “I don’t believe it,” mini Meldrew style. Or “It’s not fair. Too big. Go ‘way. I like swimming. Shut up.” And that’s just him making conversation. But my toddler did not poo in the baby pool.
My toddler isn’t very good at wearing shoes. He quite likes other people’s, anyone’s really, but his own. He will be pissed off by his own pudgy little toes and throw his shoes away. So his bare and grubby feet will pad amongst his peers’ leather sandals and technicolour Crocs. But my toddler did not poo in the baby pool.
My toddler has spilt something on the table cloth every single meal. Even when the excuse of the tippy cup being in the lost luggage vanished, he just spilt other people’s drinks. But he did not poo in the baby pool.
My toddler will throw his ice cream onto the upholstery in his attempt to eat the cone first. He flings peas like missiles, lobs bread over his shoulder and smears handfuls of soft cheese on anyone, especially his dad. But my toddler didn’t poo in the baby pool.
My toddler is past what Gina Ford suggests is the ideal age to start potty training. And even if he was so inclined he can’t sit still for more than a moment. And the moment he was relieved of his nappy yesterday morning, he took the opportunity to widdle into his father’s left Croc. But my toddler didn’t poo in the baby pool and to make sure that doesn’t happen, we are always prepared with items such as those Itzy Ritzy Diaper Bags online.
My toddler won’t use cutlery, wear bibs or, often, do what he’s told. He hates being restrained even by holding hands and only kisses when it suits him. But my toddler didn’t poo in the baby pool.
Someone else’s toddler pooed in the baby pool yesterday. We were there so, Panther says, we’ll get the blame anyway. But it wasn’t him. He was properly dressed for once in his swim nappy. Someone else had to carry their toddler at arm’s length, feet flapping with each urgent step towards sanctuary of the loo. It doesn’t look easy to carry a bewildered toddler both discretely and without getting dripping excrement down your front. But that’s by far the better end of the bargain. The other parent is left to shush a crowing sibling “kaka Papa” while moping up and fishing out. This was not us. Our toddler did not poo in the baby pool.
I felt the pain of those parents – what a horrid thing to happen. Fighting the urge to put it right by clearing up and to flee the scene leaving scapegoats. But it wasn’t our toddler who pooed in the baby pool. Nope, not this time. He has peed on carpets, clothes and bags. Pooed on rugs, floors and his mother. But our toddler has not pooed in the baby pool. Not yet anyway.