Today has been one of those days when you are swimming against the tide, wading through treacle and driving on ice. At the very moment when i thought I was about to cry with frustration i let out an almighty laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all.
We have my Husband’s Father & Step Mother coming to stay with us. Flying in from South Africa and arriving tomorrow morning. I’ve been busy trying to organise and clean our house and get ready for our family party at the weekend. All that and juggling a tantruming toddler and a teething baby has rendered me with my hands pretty full.
This morning, having washed and ironed their bed linen, tidied & cleaned their bedroom and bathroom i left it ready for our guests. Smelling just how you would like to find your room after a long haul overnight flight.
After giving the girls their lunch and cleaning up the mess, changing nappies and putting them down for a nap the baby went down without a whimper but the toddler was less enthusiastic. Within half an hour I had put her back in her bed three times and it was after hearing of no more disturbances I sighed that she had finally given up the fight and gone to sleep. That was until fifteen minutes later I could hear her playing on the landing just outside her bedroom door.
Keeping consistent in my approach i was going to lead her back to her bed for the fourth time, even if she just has some quiet time in her room. As i walked up the stairs I stopped in my tracks, i could smell poo.
That’s not unusual you might think having two babies. Dirty nappies are part and parcel of our lives. I have developed a cast iron stomach when it comes to bodily functions of my children. There is very little that turns my stomach, if at all.
When i got to the top of the stairs with my daughter watching me approach, i noticed she was not wearing her nappy and her hands looked like she was wearing brown gloves. Right there, fear has gripped my heart. Where is the dirty nappy?
Not wanting to shout and wake the baby i look behind her and see the dirty nappy. Ok, I think, she’s covered from head to toe, it’s all over the floor, and from what i can see the hoover too which was patiently sitting at the top of the stairs waiting to be carried down.
Far from ideal, but a manageable scenario. Until i turn and look the length of our upstairs passage and realise the guest bedroom door is open and the light is on.
I can’t bring myself to look, but i have to. Inching myself quietly passed the baby’s bedroom and peering into the room my eyes are unable to take in the sight that I’ve witnessed. I literally can’t find the words.
I need help. I need another pair of hands to help me and thank the Lord above my husband is working from home today in his office outside. I call him on the home intercom and with a low intonation ask him to come upstairs immediately. Sensing something amiss in my voice he comes in straight away. His nose picks up the stench of poo as he begins to climb the stairs and asks as he sneers and sniffs ‘is that poo?’….Never let it be said he’s not observant.
My daughter and I are standing next to each other at the top of the stairs waiting for him, her brown covered from head to toe in poo and me ghostly white from shock.
I tell him my discovery. His mouth is agape. I give him a choice to clean her or the mess. He takes her. Leading her into the bathroom to begin the great wash.
I begin to take in the full enormity which is the mess in the guest bedroom. Her poo is on the light switch, the plug sockets, the ottoman at the bottom of the bed, the bedframe, the lovingly ironed bed linen, and throw, pillows, radiator, adjacent white washed walls in the form of whole finger prints the length of the room, carpet……its EVERYWHERE. The smell is everywhere, everything is covered, i am covered.
Just at the point of crying with frustration with the sheer scale of cleaning i have to do before our guests arrive, i start to laugh. I can hear myself laughing but I’m not sure why i am and then i realise this brings a whole new meaning to a poo day.