Tonight I checked G's hair in the bath (stealthily; she won't let me near it if she thinks a hairwash is approaching) and decided it was nit-free. Baby C and Adriano both have much shorter hair so not worried about them.
So why is my head sooooo itchy now? Looking in the mirror I don't think there's any eggs or creepy crawlies in my hair, but just thinking about the possibility has me a-scratching.
Chicken pox is going round G's preschool. Well, that's what my melodramatic brain has concluded. Obviously, G will catch it just in time to ruin our longed-for holiday to...Butlin's.... in a couple of weeks. Actually only one boy has had it and he's back now so maybe we've escaped. I really hope so. I don't mind the girls catching it but don't want it to coincide with our holiday, that's just cruel when we need it so much.
Toilet training G is going very well. We've been at it on and off since the New Year and I really stepped up the pace about two weeks ago (the week of her birthday - bowed to pressure and didn't want her to be in nappies for her 3rd birthday). For a while we had weeing in the toilet but blind panic and insistence on a pull-up when pootime™ came along. Then G had the idea herself of sitting on the potty (which I had tried to sidestep but never mind) for pooing. So that is pretty much how it is now which is fine when we're at home but I'll be blowed if I'm going to carry a potty out with us everywhere we go, just in case, as well as all the other cr@p we 'need' to bring. So outings had me a little nervous for a while.
But last weekend we all walked to Twickenham in the pouring rain and ended up in a very lovely but verrrry quiet independent bookshop. It has a great little children's section and a cafe too. No music. It made you want to whisper as if transported to an old-school library.
You know those kids' books with buttons to press at appropriate points in the story, which always make quite LOUD noises and annoy the parents after the first couple of readings? Well imagine one of those in this situation with 10 buttons. All of them varying types of farts. Yup, farts.
G found this book and delighted in it. First Daddy had to read it a couple of times. Then Mummy volunteered to take over, thinking in her wisdom that she could distract G part way through. WRONG!
But then a bizarre thing happened.
I decided G should visit the cafe toilet as we were about to leave, and she dutifully and happily did a wee. Then the holy grail of our personal toilet training goals, a poo in the toilet! With no fuss!
It is really quite strange how happy and elated I found myself feeling. And then of course I wondered wryly if the book had inspired her.
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