Way back when, when I was compiling my travelling to do list, one of the items on it was to potty train the boys, day and night. Our backpacks aren’t huge, and we’ve got a lot of stuff to squash into them. So taking a big old pack of nappies too, would not be ideal.
At Christmas, both boys were still in nappies at night. Dickon forced the issue first, by announcing that he didn’t want to wear nappies any more one evening. We were sceptical, but he amazed us by being dry. Not wanting to be left out, his elder brother also said that he’d like to stop wearing nappies at night, so off they came. It turns out we’d had our last dry night for quite some time. For two weeks, one or both boys, usually both, wet their beds. The already unmanageable ironing pile climbed ever ceilingwards and our house started to smell of wee.
We suggested to the boys that they go back in nappies for a little while. Dickon happily acquiesced, but Ned was determined to stay without. At just five, he was certainly old enough, so we agreed, but with no obvious sign of improvement I was starting to lose the will to live.
And then, without warning, Ned started being dry in the mornings. Every morning. How we rejoiced! He’s almost never had an accident since.
Dickon carried on wearing nappies for a while. A couple of months ago, we were nearing the end of a box of nappies and I resolved to try again. For two months he’s wet himself almost every single night. Back to the ironing mountain and eau de wee. I’d resigned myself to carrying bulky packs of nappies in my backpack. Until this week. This week, he’s been dry every night except one. He’s never been dry so many nights in a row. Never. The washing line is currently empty.
Now, I don’t want to incur the wrath of the parenting gods by speaking too soon, but *whispers* I think we may have cracked it.