What A Difference A Poo Makes, 24 Little Hours..

I find it hard to believe that with a selection of toys so vast they could keep a small playgroup happily occupied for hours, Chickie bizarrely finds me the most interesting toy of all. Whether hiding then seeking his jigsaw pieces within my tummies, deleting my blog as I type or ripping my hair clip with hair from my head, there is nothing else he’d rather be doing than assaulting his mummy. Flattering you’d think, yet no. I had it on good authority that children love toys and bought lots to capture my child’s complete attention. I feel cheated.

Picture the scene. Outside is raining. Inside is straining. Every week we enjoy a ‘crap’ day together. A 24 hour period where the call of nature is at it’s loudest and Chickie’s willingness to answer at it’s lowest. It goes a little something like this. Strain, grunt, clench, cry, cuddle - strain, grunt, clench, cry, cuddle – strain, grunt, clench, cry, cuddle - repeat until bottom explodes. It’s not my or Chickie’s favourite way to spend the day (and wee hours of the morning) and being out and about is an essential distraction from the impending blast.

Rain is therefore bad. Being confined to the house – badder (yes, I’m aware that’s not an actual word). All sorts of innovative ‘sofa based’ activities were tested on a less than chirpy Chick who humoured me in between urges.

At 6pm, detonation commenced and at 6.05pm a puce, clammy Chick was finally empty and a tired, stressed Mummy relieved. Since his pooathon concluded, he’s returned to the super sweet child I vaguely remembered. It’s now a race against time to enjoy and savour post-poo Chickie as, at the stroke of midnight, the cycle repeats.