8 Hand Boy

Dylan points at the television and says ‘DeeDaa.’ This used to mean ‘Wall-E’, which we watched a few thousand times before we switched to Monsters Inc. and The Incredibles. None of these make him happy anymore but we've recently discovered that we don’t need to put the television on to keep him amused. If we give Dylan permission to look through the DVD cabinet, he will happily spend hours sorting through his DVDs, switching them between cases and then switching them back. Life is simple until it's time to tidy up.

Between Mickey’s Adventures in Wonderland and The Wheels on the Bus, Dylan has been enjoying the Olympics. He thinks the gymnastics is the funniest thing he has ever seen but it’s the horse riding that really captures his imagination. ‘’Orse,’ he says, over and over, pointing to the television in the hope that we’ll phone the organisers or the BBC and ask them  to put on a bit of unscheduled show jumping to keep him happy. Then Holly has a brainwave.

HorseWorld. What a great idea. It’s a retirement home for aging horses but it also caters for ponies, donkeys, rabbits, goats, pigs, ferrets and small boys. Throw in a few slides, a soft play area, an adventure playground and a café where short people can reach the controls on the microwave, and it’s Dylan’s idea of heaven.

This week, as well as grooming horses, riding toy tractors and climbing into pig pens, we’ve been swimming, had lessons on the harmonica, counted the ducks in Vassells Park, chased a local kitty around Page Park and made kites in playgroup. I’ve sent the second part of my Diploma off to the printers, made potato rostis, eaten the first of the cherry tomatoes from our garden and gone to the cinema for the first time in two years (to see The Dark Knight Rises). Last time I went to the movies, I was on paternity leave. How time flies.

I’m washing up in the kitchen when Dylan rushes out and says ‘Poo!’ For some reason, he isn’t wearing nappy. I ask him to show me and he leads me into the lounge, where his nappy is scrunched up on the sofa. Then he takes me to the downstairs toilet, where his potty is on the toilet with an inch of liquid in it. He took his nappy off, peed in his potty, took his potty to the toilet and then came to get me. This sort of thing has been happening a lot recently. Our boy is telling us that he is ready to be potty trained and we’re the proudest parents on the planet right up until the point where he urinates in one of our kitchen cupboards.

Oh well. Accidents will happen. Again and again and again.
 

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