This is a guest blog from my friend Lauren who never fails to make us laugh. She was hilarious before she had her two boys and now, with them in tow, she has even more funny stories. Her parenting techniques are right up my street.
Ever heard that expression ‘pride comes before a fall’?
My husband’s away with work and I’ve literally been ACING this whole parenting thing. We’ve spent loads of time outside, played educational games, bathtimes/bedtimes have run like clockwork and there’s not been ANY shouting from ANY of us (OK, maybe a bit of shouting from the two year-old). Plus, we’ve been eating SO healthily – the four year-old had SEVEN portions of fruit and veg yesterday, along with wholemeal pitta and humous and a whole bunch of other healthy crap (that part is pretty crucial to the story…).
So, to today.
We got up and out early, drove to a nearby wood – y’know, so the kids could connect with nature, search for mini beasts, throw sticks in a stream and generally act out some idyllic Enid Blyton adventure (minus the tongue sandwiches).
Ed: growing up reading Enid Blyton I was always confused why I never came across a shipwreck, lost prince or leopard in Watford
After about an hour the four year-old tells me we have to go home because he needs a poo. Not a problem, the car’s just at the top of the hill, and an hour is pretty much my limit for all that outdoorsy shit anyway. Two minutes later, the four year-old tells me he’s not sure he can hold it in ’til we get home. Again, not a problem – worst case scenario (!) we’ll just have to use the emergency potty in the car.
30 seconds later: “MUM! IT’S TOO LATE! THE POO’S COMING!!”
I won’t go into all the gory details, but I’ll just say that it involved the most toxic diarrhoea I’ve ever seen or smelt and the use of his own socks to scrape the worst of it off his legs.
The pants and socks are now residing in a shallow grave in an undisclosed location somewhere in Hertfordshire.
Ed: highly doubt you’ll be getting this card next Mother’s Day Lauren
But as the four year-old said to me on the way home (still pretty much covered in shit and sitting majestically on a plastic bag):
“Well, here’s one good thing – at least those pants didn’t have my name in!”