Matilda was still wearing nappies.
We were worried because she'd turned three.
But our self-proclaimed "big girl", untroubled,
Never signalled the need for a wee.
Mum trawled for advice on the internet,
But still couldn't find what works best.
Being laid back and calm was no answer.
Getting cross just makes everyone stressed.
"It takes time." "It's hard work." "It needs patience."
Lots more stuff along similar lines...
"Your toddler will know when she's ready...
Just be watchful and pick up the signs."
Then, one morning, the miracle happened.
"I'll wear pants from today," M declared.
In a drawer, there were plenty to choose from,
For mummies are always prepared.
Thereafter, things go very smoothly,
Now the breakthrough at last has occurred.
Matilda gets on with her business,
And, so doing, says scarcely a word.
A week or so into the training,
Even Granny's begun to relax.
In the big bag she totes is a potty,
Along with the books, toys and snacks...
And the loo roll, the wipes, and the water...
Plus the "just in case" clothes that are spare...
We are now having lunch in a café,
When Matilda slides down from her chair.
She lifts out the Peppa Pig potty.
With no nonsense, it's put on the floor,
As she pulls down her knickers, we're watching -
As are neighbouring diners galore.
"Get it sorted out Granny," says husband,
But there's nothing that Granny can do:
She is horror-struck, frozen and helpless,
As the child does a wee and a poo.
The toilets, we know, are some distance.
But we know, too, that small hands need washing.
The receptacle has to be emptied,
As it's full, and its contents are sloshing.
We negotiate all the packed tables.
To exit at speed is our bid.
I've since ordered an upmarket potty,
With removable innards and lid.