It's been a pretty big month round these parts. Firstly, a few weeks ago, my 'baby' Squit turned four to much fanfare and a bright red ride-on mini Ferrari. The first thing he did was run over the husbands foot and then reverse into his 18-month old cousin. To be fair he was fairly jubilant and likely high on the giant wedge of Red Velvet birthday cake he'd just scoffed...but still.
A few days after this momentous day, I had parent teacher meetings and it was gently suggested that given Squit was now four and showing no signs whatsoever of giving up his beloved nappies, I might want to seek professional help.
That was it. I think it triggered some form of primal parental shame which had puzzlingly remained intact up until this point.
I strode home and marched straight up to Dumpie - who was so focused on one of his 'addictive as crack' video games that he let me stand there like a moron for a few minutes before bothering to even acknowledge my presence.
"Make Squitty go on the potty and I'll give you twenty quid."
He glanced up, only mildly interested.
"Fine. But you don't have to pay me that much money. I'll do it, but can you buy me some more gold coins for my game?"
"Done," I said, and with that, he led Squit into the bathroom, firmly shutting the door, and proceeded to work some manner of goodness knows what manipulative magic on his adoring little Mini-Me. A short while later, he emerged, triumphant and victorious, yet entirely nonplussed.
"Okay. Buy me the coins please."
Bish bash bosh. And that, people, is apparently how it's done. What has taken me years to totally fail at, Dumps managed in ten minutes.
And so thus ends yet another era, another parental milestone crossed off the list: the 'baby/toddler' stage dispensed with sans fanfare and ceremony (save the special thrill of permanently deleting nappies from my online shopping lists and realising with a small burst of joy that my weekly spend on 'nammies' can now be used in the purchasing of a fine bottle of Rioja. Nice one.)