Goodbye to all that

Our two year old daughter has just discarded her night time nappy. No big deal you may say. But yes. It is. For this portentous event means that for the very first time since the birth of our eldest son in December 1998 we will not have to change a nappy in our household. Or to be more precise, a nappy will not be changed in our household, as we have, over the years, managed a few child-free sorties thanks to grandparental input.

That’s ten years, one month, three weeks and four days of uninterrupted nappy changing to be exact. Can I be bothered to work out how many nappies that is? I’ll give it a try. My accounting husband would be proud of me. Let’s assume an average 4 nappies a day for 365 days x 10 years = 14,600. Then the periods of changing two lots: boys nos.1 and 2 overlapped for at least a year; +1460. Boys nos. 2 and 3 overlapped for 3 months or so; +360. And boy no.3 and girl no.1 overlapped for about 18 months; +2190. Which gives a total of 18, 610 nappies. Blimey. And every single one of them was disposable. So how much landfill have I clogged with horrid methane exuding packets of crap? And the cost! £6.98 for a packet of 27. That means in ten years I have spent approximately £4,811 on nappies alone.

There are those who say that the washing of re-usable nappies with all its detergent, water and electricity, is just as detrimental to the environment as disposable ones. Our local borough did not offer the nappy collection service I have heard about in Edinburgh and Bristol. Our London GP once said she used to see the most awful cases of nappy rash before disposable nappies became widely used. These are the arguments that those who don’t want to wash Terri nappies like to hear. One thing is certain: disposable nappies do such an efficient job at keeping a toddler dry that oftentimes they won’t even realise they are wet. So where’s the incentive to use the potty? Which in turn sells more nappies. I’m sure those of us who dragged a heavy sodden Terri nappy around our thighs as toddlers had a greater need to be potty trained sooner rather than later.

I have friends who were rather surprised at how long my boys were indulged in their need to wear nappies - let’s not beat about the bush, only one of my boys bothered to come out of them before reaching his third birthday. I wasn’t prepared to use bribery as I’d seen kids visit the potty hundreds of times with barely visible results just to get another jelly baby. Look my son is potty trained and he’s not even two. Please ignore the fact that he’s got rotten teeth!

In my experience, the safest way to avoid accidents, save time and multiple use of the washing machine was more or less to wait until the boys told me when they were ready to come out. Perhaps this is an example of despicable slummy-mummydom but there were educationalists in Germany where we lived at the time who insisted that most boys were not anyway able to control the pipes sufficiently until they were three or thereabouts. I’m sure there are several out there who will want to put me right on that front but it was a line I was happy to swallow in my laisser-faire approach to potty training.

Actually that’s not true. I wasn’t always so laid back. As first time parents we tried hard to train our eldest son, the summer after his second birthday. I have photos of him on holiday in France sitting on a potty in the garden of the house we rented, chatting to his attentive Grandma. We let him run around with no pants that summer. It was easier than washing them all the time. The French didn’t appear to mind.

One lunch time we were sitting outside a café on a village pavement when our little boy grew agitated. He started to busy himself, running back and forth as if looking for something. I had just taken him to the loo so assumed it was something else that was bothering him. As we watched, our little chap squatted down and left a man-sized turd on the pavement only yards away from the nearest table, fortunately unoccupied. We were speechless. What on earth should we do with it? Pretend it was a dog? Too big! Run and hide? We had just ordered. Ignore it? What if someone trod in it? Or traced it back to us? Looking around to check he was unobserved my husband took a serviette, picked up the offending object and sauntered off in search of a suitable place to dispose of it. I thought he might find one of those bins for dog waste but I’m not sure the rural Burgundians were quite there yet. My, how we laughed.

So, we are about to rid ourselves of two potties, a child size loo seat, a nappy bucket, a nappy changing mat and half a packet of Pampers pull-ups, all, with the exception of the last item, ten years old. Do I have a bidder?

It is the end of an era, but one I am not sad to see go. In fact, I think we’ll throw a party to celebrate. The question is what should I put on the invitation? My husband thought of The Wipe Out Party. All suggestions welcome.