*Disclaimer* Don’t read this if you’re squeamish. Or eating.
I’m aware that my last few posts have been a little serious. Worthy even. They sound like I’m working things out. There’s the occasional scent of someone who’s getting it together. In the interests of fairness and honesty, here’s a little snapshot from today.
From my Elvie.
Look at her. Bobbing for apples. With her hands. That’s my girl.
It’s fair to say that potty training Elvie was a task. We started much too early, when she began removing her own nappies to do her business on the carpet. Just after her second birthday. By the time she was three, we had it down and, apart from the initial fear of using the nursery toilets, everything has gone smoothly ever since.
Until this last week. We’ve had something of a major regression. I’m not entirely sure why. But the evidence is inescapable. Lots of wet tights. Lots of little puddles. Loads of washing. But we’ve been spared the worst. Until now.
This morning I was smiling, telling a friend how Elvie tidied up after herself following our only recent ‘code brown’ incident. When I went upstairs to clean up, there was nothing to be found. Turns out she’d flushed it down the toilet. Knickers and all.
Oh how I laughed.
This afternoon Elvie went upstairs for a wee. And didn’t come down. For ages. She assured me that she was “fine, Mummy” and, fool that I am, I believed her.
Ten minutes later she came down. Without her tights. Or her knickers. Instead, she was wearing a little pair of yellow shorts. Underneath her dress. In November.
“So, where are your tights?”
“I took them off.”
“So they didn’t go in the poo.”
Thirty minutes, it took me. To clean it all off the floor. And the toys. And her dalmatian pyjamas. Which she’d used to wipe the carpet. Nice.
It was everywhere. Literally everywhere. Even along the bottom of the doorframe. How is that even possible?
And the piece de resistance? A huge pile in the middle of the floor. Topped with a toy spaceman. No really. She’d pushed him right into it. Like he’d just conquered some steaming brown planet. It’s literally impossible to turn off her quirk.
It was utterly revolting. There are no other words.
Of course, given all that I’ve been learning recently about gratitude, I cleaned up, came downstairs, smiled at my babies and got on with dinner.
Like heck did I. In the real world, I spent ten minutes scrubbing the smell from my hands, then came downstairs to referee an argument over a stethoscope, collapse in front of Cbeebies, and text Wes to grab a takeaway on his drive home. Nailed it.
Last week I was thinking about trying to ditch the night-time nappy pants. After today, I think we’ll be waiting a while. If only for the sake of the spacemen.