Mummies have to plan their poos. We all know that. Nap time, bed time – your pooing opportunities revolve around your children’s schedules, just like everything else in your sorry existence nowadays.
Today, the need took me rather unexpectedly. I had had a morning poo. What was my digestive system thinking, sending me another, mid-afternoon? Spontaneous bowel-movement urges have no place in my timetable, thank you very much.
Having just collected Monster Minor from nursery, I had to formulate a poo plan. The gloriously child-free among you may simply think ‘just leave the toe rag downstairs, you pandering, brainless cretin.’ Oh no, my friends. Even if the little scamp stopped his adorable howling (for my benefit, because I’d left the room) for a few seconds, he’d definitely take it upon himself to pull Husband Dearest’s beloved TV on top of him, resulting in a trip to A&E. I don’t think the excuse ‘I fucking needed to take a dump’ would wash with social services.
Easy solution – I’ll take the clingy motherfudger up to the bathroom with me. The bathroom is full of things to entertain the little mite –
bleach bath toys, toothbrushes, towels. He’ll be occupied whilst I squeeze one out. I propped him up so that he could cruise around the bath whilst I had the quickest shit in history.
And that was when all hell broke loose. (Pardon the pun.)
My Monster Minor is renowned for his screaming ab-dabs. And I, obviously, had committed the cardinal sin of putting him down. He didn’t just cry. He looked me in the eyes and pierced my ear drums. He made sounds that would make dying cats quieten. He screamed until he was puce. He briefly stopped to coo at Gary the Cat, who had come in to check no massacre was taking place; only to continue upon Gary’s rapid exit. His creased face made me question how I could ever be so cruel as to not allow my son on my knee whilst I defecated. I mean, surely that’s a bridge too far, tandem crapping?
Fellow parents – genuine question (answers on a postcard) – what do you do in this situation?
I JUST WANT TO POO IN PEACE!
For those who think I am a disgusting excuse for a woman, talking about my toilet habits so frankly. Just wait until you have children – poo will be the topic of approximately 1/5 of your conversation. In equal measure with sleep, the state of your lady garden post-birth and Peppa Pig. The remaining 1/5 is saved for when you’re at work, with child-free beings or answering the door to Jehovas Witnesses.