Today I reached new low. As I knelt with my hand down the toilet, pulling mounds of pissed-soaked tissue paper out of the bog, I wondered why childcare manuals and smiling NCT classes never prepare you for days like these.
Oh yes, they tell you all about the marvels of childbirth and the slight discomfort you’ll suffer. But nothing about the fact that you can’t actually sit down again for about a week after, let alone contemplate having a poo.
They warn you that dirty nappies might be unpleasant. They don’t tell you that you will see all colours of the rainbow disguised as s**t in the space of a few weeks, and that little boys will quite happily piss all over your face.
You get told that children are the fonts of all knowledge and nothing is as wondrous as the innocence of youth. This is fine, until you are in a public toilet cubicle and your child decides to ask loudly whether you are having “another smelly poo?” (I wasn’t, incidentally).
And today was the day when my 4 year old decided she wanted to see how much toilet roll she could actually fit into one loo (a whole roll in fact), before pissing all over it.
“It’s all right Mummy, it’s only wee-wee. You can wash your hands,” she said helpfully.
Is it criminal to just contemplate strangling your daughter with wet, stinking loo roll?
