How could this cute little face create so much washing you ask? Well he does.
My middle child is toilet training.
As if it's not bad enough that my eldest is as cunning as a shit-house rat, challenging everything I say, and my youngest is going through separation anxiety and a growth spurt...or is it teething? Who the hell can really tell anyway!
Now my middle child decides that he can poop on a toilet all by himself.
Except that he can't.
What my middle child can do well is sense when he needs to do a poo and then quietly sneak into the toilet all by himself and see how many surfaces he can inappropriately smear poop onto, while leaving the remainder of the poop in his butt crack for me to later discover dried over and stuck to his underpants.
Why??! Because they can.
Last night I got up to the baby and left my toilet-trainer in my bed in good faith (he had snuck in hours earlier but I was too tired to protest). When I returned 5 minutes later, I crawled back in beside him and into a cold, rude wet patch directly in the middle of my bed. Rather than get angry these days I'm far more likely to just go through the motions of parenthood, broken and resigned, thanking the universe it wasn't poop in my bed.
We go through so much toilet paper that I just put it on the weekly shopping list now and I have a plunger permanently next to the toilet for unblocking the bowl.
I am not kidding.
So much poop that I had to put him in the shower.
Tristan says to me "I love you Mum".
How can you get mad?
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