Last night was one of the reasons I became a parent (not). Wednesday nights are a pain as Daddy tends to have a late meeting at the council leaving me to juggle two bedtimes. I was hoping to manage on my own but at 7 I called my parents to get some help – Ciaran was going ballistic and Ben needed to get washed. My Mum came round to hold Ciaran and watched Ben get into his bath and admired his bath toys.
I decided to wash Ben’s hair and ran into the bedroom to get the shampoo – as I left Ben said “No hair, no mamma, poo” I took this to mean, please don’t wash my hair with shampoo you twisted evil woman and ignored him. Seconds later I heard a scream from the bath and there was Ben in tears pooing in the bath. Well he did warn me.
I dunked his feet and legs in the remaining clean water, gave him a towel, cuddle and asked him to start drying himself while I fished large lumps of poo out of the bath, sluiced smaller lumps of poo down the plug, filled the bath with dettol and water and scrubbed my hands feeling that I will never be clean again.
I made a big effort to be smiley and told Ben over and over that it didn’t matter and that it was OK to poo, and that he had been very clever and had told me that he was going to do a poo etc… All the excitement knackered him and after reading the “My Dad” book twice and a bottle of milk he was fast asleep. As my Mum said this close to potty training we cant give him a complex about pooing being bad. Ciaran was then taken upstairs after 8 to start feeding, I put him down at 9 sprinted to watch Torchwood but eventually gave up and had Ciaran downstairs with me, all of us settling down around 10.
A nice evening – not!