Owen loves to sing. Everyone remarks on it. This child sings from morning to night, a sponge for lyrics. Not only does he sing “You spin me right round baby” and “Bang bang bang on the door baby (bump bump) Knock a little louder sugar” and other eighties classics, but he has a fairly extensive repertoire of nursery favourites, complete with their various verses. On Friday Melissa, his substitute daycare teacher, was surprised to hear that London Bridge does not merely fall down, but also gets built up again with silver and gold, iron and steel, and stone so strong. Owen was apparently belting out all the verses he knows, as if to say “Come on! Doesn’t everyone know this one?”
He also loves “The Wheels on the Bus” and splices all the lyrics from all the versions he knows into a very long song. There are monkeys that chatter chatter chatter, flamingoes that flap flap flap, babies that go wah wah wah, and a Daddy who says “stop doing that” all through the town.
Recently, Owen has been inserting his demands into songs. Yesterday we brought chocolate chip cookies to Owen’s great-grand-aunt Joy. Owen very clearly wanted to eat those cookies, but we insisted that we had more at home and those were for Aunt Joy. Owen was singing “Mary had a Little Lamb” when all of a sudden the song morphed into this:
Owen wants an Aunt Joy cookie, Aunt Joy cookie, Aunt Joy cookie
Owen wants an Aunt Joy Cookie, An Aunt Joy Coo-Coo-kie!
We’ve been trying to toilet train Owen, and it’s not going especially well. If we remind him about every hour, we can get him to do all (or very nearly all) of his peeing on the potty. I read that poop training was easier, but we’ve only managed one poop on the potty. We know he’s going because he gets quiet and usually says something like “I love you sooo much” or something equally complimentary. And then sometimes he gets red in the face. It’s like he knows he’s not supposed to be pooping in his pants so he deflects with praise. “Mummy so nice”; “Mummy loves you soooo much”; “Owen not bad”; “Big hug?”
This morning, he told me he loved me soooo much out of the blue, so I immediately assumed he was pooping (oh dear, why can’t I just believe that my child loves me?). I asked him if he needed to use the potty. He said “Not yet” (a classic answer). Then, to the tune of London Bridge, he belted this out:
Owen pooping in his diaper, in his diaper, in his diaper
Owen pooping in his diaper, my fair lady.
Pooping pooping in his diaper, in his diaper
My fair poopy… and so on.
This was when Duncan and I looked at each other in mock despair. I mean, he’s beaten us. We’re done. We can’t top this level of creative willful toilet training avoidance.
And as it turned out, he really did just love me. He was only singing about pooping in his pants. This time.