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Potty training progress

Two steps forward, one step back with Aidan's potty training.

Since Friday he's had no peeing accidents to speak of, and in an unexpected bonus, most of the diapers he still wears at night have been dry the next morning too. Alas, poos haven't been so successful. Despite happily doing several poos at the public bathrooms at Elbow Beach on Saturday, ever since it's been all accidents. It's not just that he can't stop them in time, but he actively seems to fear sitting on the toilet or the potty to try to do one. Poor guy gets really upset when he poos his pants too (and who wouldn't?), which isn't helping.

In related news, our bathroom now stinks of pee thanks, I think, to the dumb design of Aidan's rubber potty seat, which actually seems to absorb the pee that gets onto it. And now every time we take him somewhere in the car, I worry about finding bathrooms, persuading him to use the portable potty, or dealing with the aftermath of a poo accident.

Really, diapers were so much easier.

Potty training

This weekend is a long weekend here in Bermuda, with the Bermuda Day holiday on Monday. Alas, we're going to be spending most of it stuck at home, cleaning up pee and poo. Yes, it's time to try to potty train Aidan.

He's currently one of only a handful of kids in his nursery school class who still wear diapers. And he needs to be potty trained before he starts his new school in September. So there's a mild degree of urgency to getting the job done.

Training actually started yesterday afternoon at granny's house. So far it's not going too well. It's now three-nil when it comes to pooing his pants vs. pooing on the toilet, and around three-two when it comes to peeing. Indefatigable pessimist that I am, I'm convinced that come Tuesday morning the results will be little better, leading to some potentially unpleasant situations when we do actually have to leave the house.

Either way, this weekend is likely to seem less like a long weekend and more like an interminable one.

The dangers of the internet

Aidan's is obsessed with diggers. Every time we pass one he'll excitedly point it out. Given the opportunity, he'd spend all day watching them work. Half of his books are about diggers, and a similar number of his toys are some kind of construction machinery too.

So I laughed out loud when I saw this story, about a three-year-old in New Zealand who put in a bid for a real digger on an online auction site while her parents were asleep. (The mother says she'll now be taking off her automatic logins from any website her daughter could purchase from. Hmm, perhaps you really ought to make sure your daughter can't use your computer at all when you're not around, eh?)

I'll be monitoring Aidan's internet usage much more carefully from now on!

The Cradle, Part Two

I plug the fuse in.

From deep within the Cradle, the low, loud hum of a long-silent generator slowly whirring back to life. The lights above flicker and come on.

I remain motionless for a long time, my senses straining to detect any sign that the Cradle has been alerted to me. Nothing. Time to move. I head back along the flooded passage, up the ladder, and throw the switch to open the portcullis.

But before going through, I remember: I have a job to do. Heading back to the lobby I see the drainpipe that the girl in my head told me about. Pulling the vial of her blood from my cloak, I drop it into it.

Again, her disembodied voice speaks to me. Thank you, she says. My blood is now outside the Cradle, but the Cradle still has a grip on me. She tells me to find her nightdress in the white hall and destroy it in the furnace in the morgue.

I go back to the portcullis and pass through into the exercise yard and the lounge beyond.

As I step back inside I begin to hear a different noise from up ahead, a scratching sound. Rats? Roaches? Dropping back into the shadows I peer into the gloom.

Through a doorway, an electric light hangs from the ceiling. It's flickering and crackling, as if a mosquito is repeatedly hurling itself against the bulb. As I watch, brow furrowed, the door starts to open.

Heart racing, I shrink back against the wall, not daring to look. Something is coming, shuffling over the flagstones. With the blood roaring in my ears, I fight to keep calm, praying that I remain unseen.

Frozen, I watch as a humanoid figure shuffles into the pool of light in front of me. Now this light, too, has started flickering. The creature appears to be dressed head to toe in sacking, its head and hands covered by metal cages. It emits a low moan as it moves past. As it moves out of sight, I release my breath. The light stops flickering.

Before it can return, I move as quickly as I can through the shadows and into the hallway it came from. Passing under the light, I am momentarily exposed when it starts to crackle and flicker again.

Fighting rising panic, I see a darkened side corridor up ahead. Rushing into it, I turn and crouch just in time to see a second creature passing under the light where I stood seconds earlier.

It seems that I'm not alone, after all.

The Cradle, Part One

I've just broken into the derelict asylum/orphanage called the Cradle. The place is in darkness, the only light coming from the moonbeams filtering in through the narrow, barred windows. There's a low, eerie howl somewhere in the distance. The wind, perhaps. Water drips unseen.

There's a narrow stair to my right, winding upwards. Crouching, so as to make as little noise as possible, I creep up.

From somewhere above, a faint thumping. It gets louder as I ascend. Eventually, the stairs end in a narrow door. The thumping seems to be coming from behind it. I thought this place was abandoned? For a long time, I stand outside the door, mustering my courage.

I reach out, turn the handle. The door creaks open. The thumping stops.

I'm in the attic. The room is empty, save for a couple of crates and an old painting. Something catches the light atop one of the crates. Edging forwards, I see a fuse. I slip it into my pocket. A dark stain on the floor next to the crate catches my eye. Is that blood?

I move over to the painting. A picture of a young girl. She looks familiar...

Suddenly a voice in my head, her voice. She's a prisoner here. The Cradle won't let her go. She wants me to find a vial of her blood in the storm cellar and drop it into the drainpipe in the lobby to get it outside the Cradle. Only then will she be free.

Over to my right, by the blood, a strange blue light is now burning in the air. It's casting a shadow on the wall... the shadow of a young girl. But there's no-one to be seen.

I want to run back down the stairs but I'm terrified that the sound of my footsteps will attract less benign attention. Still crouching, I move back down them as quickly as I can.

I enter a dormitory. Metal bed frames line the walls. It's deserted, but there's a strange sound. At the far end, a chest, locked no doubt. I want to look inside, but while I'm picking the lock my back will be exposed. Dare I? As I creep forwards, the murmuring gets louder. Oh God, is it worth it? I pull out my lockpick. Quickly, I work the tumblers. The lid flips open, I grab the silver candlestick inside, and spin around.

There's no-one there.

I come to an iron portcullis next to a switch. I flip the switch, but the portcullis doesn't budge. No power. The conduit to the switch passes through the floor. Nearby, a convenient opening in the floor, and a ladder going down. Peering into the gloom, I can see the floor below is flooded. The fuse box must be down there.

Don't make me go down there, I whimper, peering into the darkness. But I have no choice.

Down the ladder, along a flooded stone passageway and into a small room. Several shelves hold glass vials. At the back of the room, an iron cage. I move towards it.

Suddenly, the girl's voice again. This is where they kept the new arrivals before a room could be found for them, she says. Don't go in there. If you do, the Cradle may see you.

I back away, bumping into one of the shelves. The vials on it rattle, one almost falls off. I grab it. It's full of blood. Must be hers. It's still warm.

Back along the flooded passageway, and right. Past iron pipes, into the generator room. There's the fusebox. I pull the fuse out from under my cloak, reach forward, then hesitate.

The Cradle is in darkness now, and I'm terrified of every shadow. Yet so far, I've seen no-one. The Cradle may not yet know that I'm here. But if plug that fuse in, the lights will certainly come on. And then...

I need to open that portcullis. But I fear the light even more than I fear the dark.