Tales From The Ball Pit

Ball pits are cesspools, right?

Well, I never bought into this notion, I mean, I have fond memories of being at Smållland as a kid, swimming through vast quantities of germs while submerging my tiny self into a vat of primary coloured plastic balls. Hooray! Funtimes!

 

I always thought, hey, what's a bit of snot and the odd droplet of drool. No biggie. Really.

 

Until yesterday. When my child proved to me just how disgusting ball pits are. 

 

Have you ever tired to sop up a wet mess in the midst of thousands of  wee plastic balls? Let's just say that despite my best efforts, I'm quite sure that one or two thousand balls got away from me, and are now covered in urine. And as nonchalantly as I tired to go about the clean up, I'm pretty sure that my child's soggy pants were my telltale heart. Hey, mothers at playgroup! Check out my kid! I win at parenting!!

 

So, all of this to say that potty training had being going great, until  a few weeks ago, when suddenly urination in the appropriate vessel was not so much a thing any more.

 

This might have something to do with the fact that we my child started play school, we moved five hundred times in the space of 6 weeks, and her whole world was turned upside down. There were massive battles of will, refusals to sit in the appropriate spot and do appropriate things, but we got over it. And it was all cool, until my kid developed a phobia of flushing. 

 

In our new place, the toilets sound like they're about to suck the entire atmosphere down the plumbing when business time is over. Jet fueled toilets! And when you're two, the prospect of disappearing down the pipes is a very real and terrifying possibility. Hence the latest bathroom strike. And the soggy pants. And the dirty dirty dirty ball pit.

 

Anyway, I'm thinking that maybe the solution is the Rolls Royce of potties? Like this one? Or maybe traveling toilets that come with me, where ever we go? Do you think this one is small enough to fit in my diaper bag? That would certainly do to avoid the pee-pee-on-mama-in-the-taxi-because-traffic-is-just-too-insane situation we've been dealing with lately. Ohhhhh…..a mini urinal? Omg, now I totally want a future maybe baby boy. So cute.

 

Okay. This is ridiculous. But seriously.  Potty strike ideas? 

 

Because I disclose everything, including the state of my child's bathroom habits, you should probably know that this was a sponsored post on behalf of Babe-equip. Hey, did you know they ship overseas? Which is awesome for first-time neurotic expat parents like meeeeeee. As always, the content, ideas, and opinions expressed herein, are entirely my own.