I’m really just a small-town girl who wants a bit of time to read a book with my child before she goes to bed. Is that too much to ask?
Most nights things aren’t that straight-forward, but tonight surpassed any from recent memory. I felt like Lara Croft if Lara did in fact eat too much cake and needed her roots doing. And if the tomb she was raiding was in actual fact made of poo. So, I forgot to say, if you don’t like reading about books at the same time as reading about poo, you maybe want to move on. Come to think of it, the post is more about poo than books tonight. With a dash of dementia. If that’s your thing, you’ve struck poo gold and I’m your gal.
The below are the stats for what happened between 6 and 9pm this evening before we finally got a second chance at reading half a chapter of The Enchanted Wood (which I am LOVING by the way. Enid Blyton is primed for a comeback – if you don’t read any of the books with racist stereotypes or girls called Fanny. Essentially, buy the rewritten Enid Right-on ones and you are in business.) But before we get back to the small matter of how we read tonight, there was other business to be dealt with. Stuff that I honestly didnt sign up for:
Number of times child pooed herself in the street on the way home: 1 (no parent ever wants to hear “mummy, I’m pooing” in the middle of wind and rain when there’s yet 15 minutes to go. We only live 7 minutes’ adult walk from the childminder but with a toddler that goes up to 25. A toddler who has pooed herself walks at the rate of an inch an hour.
Number of dementia patients we detained wandering around outside in the bitterly cold wind, wearing only a short-sleeved, stained dress and slippers and whom we kept talking whilst someone else went to get help: 1
Number of dementia patients my child happily chatted to: 1. I’m SO proud of her. She pulls it out of the bag when she needs to. Even when she’s already pooed herself. Actually the old lady had too and I was so relieved MF didn’t point it out. The chap who went to get someone from the home we found her wandering around outside of told the Monkey what a really great grown-up girl she was.I had a little cry when I got home. I was exhausted by all the stuff that happened after that, but mostly I hate the thought that one day my Monkey-face might be old and lost too. I don’t know what it says about me that I think these thoughts, but I do.
Number of separate poo-related incidents we needed to sort out when we got home: 4
Number of books read whilst child sat on the loo in order for this parent to avoid more poo-related trauma: 1. Well, a few pages of The Enchanted Wood, Chapter 2 before Monkey-face declared she wanted to read it herself. The story went: “Once upon a time there was a chanted wood. And it was ENORMOUS.” Sitting on the loo for ages didn’t prevent more poo trauma however.
Number of toilets in the bookandbed household: 1
Number of parents who had to use the potty for a wee whilst the toilet was occupied by the Monkeyface: 1. “Mummy, you can’t use my potty, you are too big.” It’s a special moment when you’ve committed to this course of action before considering whether the potty is in fact up to the task of an adult wee. I’m very glad I spent 4 times the regular amount on a Baby Bjorn potty because they are huge. Cheaper than a second loo
Number of baths taken by Monkeyface today: 3 (due to non-avoidence of poo trauma – see above)
Essentials for dealing with such incidents: Hand gel. Wipes. Dettol spray.
Impediments to dealing with such incidents: a moving, poo-phobic, hysterical child. Keeping the above in separate rooms. Running out of any of the above items mid-trauma.
Number of parents arriving home without wine in hand the minute it’s all over: 1
Number of parents in need of hard liquor: 1
Number of chapters read before falling asleep: 1/2. Completely wonderful to read until she nodded off. I won’t be far behind.
Goodnight. Pray for me that there will be no more poo