Potty Day with Mr. Wobble

"I can do it myself," said Florence, standing very straight in the bathroom doorway.

She was four, and today she wanted one thing. She wanted to use the big potty, the way her brother did, and not have an accident all day.

Mr. Wobble the duck waddled in behind her. He lived in the garden, and he had come in to find a warm spot for his nap. He did not care about potties at all.

Florence sat down. She waited. Nothing happened.

"Come on," she said.

Still nothing. She tried humming. She tried counting to ten. She tried kicking her feet. Mr. Wobble tucked his head under his wing.

"Maybe I'm too wiggly," said Florence.

She hopped off and ran to the garden, and then back again, and then she stopped. Her tummy felt funny. It was the feeling she had not noticed before.

"Oh!" she said. "That's it!"

She ran to the potty and sat down fast. But in her hurry, she knocked the lid. It went clang on the tiles, and Mr. Wobble jumped up and flapped his wings.

"Quack! Quack!" he cried, and he ran round and round the bathroom, and his feet went slap, slap, slap.

Florence laughed so hard that her shoulders shook. And just like that, it happened. She did it. She really did.

"I did it myself!" she whispered.

Mr. Wobble stopped. He tilted his head at the potty and then at Florence. Then he waddled to the sunny patch by the window, turned around three times, and sat down with a soft fluff.

Florence pulled up her pants and washed her hands with the warm water. Then she flushed. Whoosh! The water swirled away, round and round like a little bath-time river.

Outside, the sun came in through the window. Mr. Wobble gave one sleepy quack, and Florence sat down beside him on the warm floor.