Paul's yellow potty

Paul had a yellow potty with a little duck drawn at the bottom. It sat in the bathroom between the bath and the rug, and Paul had been looking at it from far away for three days.

That morning, Mum said, "Shall we try?" Paul tucked Ginger, his reddish-brown teddy bear, under his arm and sat on the potty. It was cold and hard. He sat up very straight. Mum perched on the edge of the bath. They waited.

Tick, tock, went the clock in the hallway. Drip, drip, went the tap. But from the potty, nothing. "It's not time yet," said Mum. Paul stood up. The duck was still there, all alone, all dry.

At lunch, Paul drank a big glass of water, then another, because Ginger was thirsty too. Afterwards he ate his apple purée, looking at the bathroom door. Behind it, the potty was waiting. Nobody moved.

In the afternoon, Mum came back with a book about lorries. "Would you like to read on the potty?" Paul thought about it. He sat Ginger on the rug, right in front, so he could see the pictures. Then he sat down. The book was about a tipper lorry that went vroom up the mountain, and Paul went vroom too, very softly.

And suddenly: plink. Then plink, plonk. Then a little splash at the bottom of the potty, right on the duck. Paul went quiet. He looked at Mum. Mum looked at him. "Did you hear that?" whispered Paul. "I heard it," said Mum, and her eyes were smiling before her mouth.

Paul stood up to look. He looked for a long time, then said, "Splash!" Ginger could hardly believe it. Together they did the splash dance in the bathroom, one foot, other foot, a spin, arms in the air. Then Mum emptied the potty into the toilet, and Paul pressed the flush button, which went a big SHHHHH.

Paul waved goodbye to the water as it went, the way you wave goodbye to a boat. That night he fell asleep with Ginger in the crook of his arm. In the bathroom, the yellow potty waited on the rug, clean and dry, with its little duck at the bottom.