I jumped from my hiding place, dramatically wiping, quickly flushing the toilet and roaring: “One minute J”.
“MOM”. I pulled open the toilet door.”What is it J?” I didn’t even manage to wash my hands, this time. Yuck.
“MOM, QUICK!” I ran.
J was standing on the couch, pinching his nose. Baby D was in his jail (play pen) and Ethan, Ethan was oblivious to everything; jumping up and down watching Spongebob, one hand down his pants, the other in his mouth. He was clearly enjoying his show. Then I saw it.
“Oh God.” I grabbed the full pack of wipes. This would need the full pack. “Run out and get a plastic bag, a pants and a pull-up, J please.”
I rolled up my sleeves and tied back my hair. “I’ll get him a pyjamas mom, I think he’ll need it.” I nodded and made my way slowly over to Ethan, in the hope that I wouldn’t startle him or break his concentration on the yellow twat and the pink fool on the TV. It’s easier to clean when Ethan is completely distracted.
I assessed the scene. I could clean the floor, chair, disregarded toys, all before disturbing him. But, and it’s a big but, he was clearly patient zero. I had to clean him first. I stepped closer. He had a brownish tint, not unlike badly applied fake tan, all over his hands, face, clothes, feet and mouth. I approached my ‘tangoed’ boy.
“Fug way” he punched at me while I stripped him. Slap. My head took a hit. I wiped the heavy ‘stuff’ off while dodging kicks.
Damn adverts, I continued to dodge and duck his jabs and kicks. I turned him towards the door, I had done all I could do for now, the shower could do the rest. Thankfully, he loves showers. He hates brushing teeth but when he has put that in his mouth, I’ve just got to suck it up and take the bites, like a big girl. Or a wrestler. It all really depends on Ethan’s reaction.
I left him in his bedroom, all clean and happy, as I ran downstairs to finish the clean-up. I can clean up any amount of the brown ‘stuff’ in as little as 10 minutes. Experience has taught me well.
“Mom, I think baby D, has done it too…” J half apologised. “Of course you have!” I looked at my little toddler, “Uhh ohh poo’d it!” he pointed to his nappy.
“Two minutes baby.” I patted his soft hair.
It was only when I was walking back up to Ethan’s room that I noticed. Beige carpet on the landing wasn’t the smartest decision D and I had made; I had forgotten to clean the soles of Ethan’s feet before I marched him up the stairs.