Toilets used to be fun man. Aged two and there she was wafting a sheet of super shiny princess stickers at me every time I squeezed so much as a wee out my front bottom. Now? Well now she is standing at the foot of the stairs screaming blue murder at me every day, something about going for a wee and getting my shoes on or we are going to be late for school. Of course, I'm never actually listening when she starts going off on one. I say ‘yes Mummy’ but that's largely to shut her up so I can play with my dolls.
I'm not sure how I can make it happen, but I really would like to get those shiny princess stickers back in my life. I've been trying for a week but to no avail. Take last Friday for example, S had ANOTHER broken leg appointment (Yeah seriously how long can she milk one broken leg!?) so, we traipsed into the surgery (luckily not the hospital this time) for another long wait. At this point I would like to go off on a tangent to say why are they always on a Friday? Yeah woohoo I have that Friday feeling, oh wait, no I don't, I have to sit in some manky waiting room watching oldies cough into material tissues. Anyway, we sat there for ages and admittedly I did need a wee, but decided I wasn't going to ask to go, that would be too convenient, and I want those stickers.
After the docs we took S back to school, mum DID make a point of asking me if I needed a wee, and I really could have taken her up on the offer, but as that wouldn’t have prompted a return of funky stickers I held on and refused the offer. I thought I might be on to something until we got to the bottom of the road and I realised I was so desperate I was never going to make it home, ‘Mummy,’ I shouted, ‘I need a wee now!’ Well, she obviously got onto that high horse of hers going on and on about how she had only just asked me at school and why on earth didn’t I say I needed to go then and now we are miles from the nearest loo blah blah blah. As you can imagine really not helpful in the least bit when you are worrying about pissing all over your fluffy boots. Folding my legs into funny angles didn't help the urge but it did get Mummy into panic mode, staring unhelpfully at the passing main road traffic as if some toilet was magically going to pull up alongside us.
As it was Friday and Grandma (newly moved to the area and OMG that deserves a diary entry in itself) doesn't work every Friday Mummy decided to bang loudly on her door (conveniently located down the road from school) to see if we could use her bog. She wasn't there! Grandma how can you not be there when I so needed to rescue my fluffy boots? Eventually Mummy just pulled me into a bush on the side of the road and told me to pee there in front of everyone!!! What the hell does she take me for, a boy? Does she not realise I can’t just pop a willy out of a tiny hole and do this discreetly? Dear reader I had to drop my trousers and balance my arse in full view of the traffic and attempt to, not only not pee on my boots, but also not to fall into it afterwards. The humiliation. The sheer humiliation. And if that wasn't bad enough Mummy still went on and on about it for most of the walk home. Mortified.
So, in the week that has followed I have tried to improve my plan by simply not drinking very much so she can coax me into weeing with stickers again. Sadly, the plan is yet to work, I just can’t help but get thirsty after ballet and they often won’t let me go to nursery unless I have had a big drink beforehand. Oh well, at least I have found a better spot to wee when out and about, the field on our final stretch home makes a half decent spot and I only have to put up with cows staring at me, still mildly embarrassing, but I don't, at least, feel like I am being judged on the colour of my knickers.