‘She won’t be doing it when she’s 18…’

We’re having an issue with poo. In the knickers. Not mine, I should add. And it’s wearing me down. Because, I’m sorry, but I just don’t have time for this s***. Pardon the pun. And if one more person says, ‘Don’t worry! She won’t be doing it when she’s 18…’

‘Three Poos and a Baby.’

Today has been a personal best.

Three poos in the knickers. And three denials. ‘I haven’t done a poo. It was a bottom burp.’

Oh really? And that sagging in your tights is what? Air?

We’ve tried it all. Encouraging words. Making it a relaxed affair with activities and a chat. Even a reward chart (and I NEVER do reward charts). She actually did get 10 stickers and a new baby from the shops. But since getting it she’s celebrated her victory by doing them in her pants again. Clever.

And I can’t keep doing reward charts. I mean, we’ve already got nine babies in the house, not including the real one.

It’s like a flipping orphanage.

DON’T let it go (please).

Now, my patience is wearing thin.

So is the supply of knickers. Because I simply do not have the time or the will to scrape the poo out. So in the bin they go. The only saving grace is the fact that the Frozen knickers were out of stock otherwise Anna and Elsa would have MUCH more to worry about than an eternal winter and the possibility of death by a frozen heart.

I mean, I’d take that any day over suffocation by s***.

Wouldn’t you?

The most irritating comment. Ever.

And if one more person tells me not to worry because she won’t be doing it when she’s 18, I’m going to cry before verbally assaulting them.

Because how do they KNOW she isn’t going to still be doing it when she’s 18? And even if she’s not, how helpful is it to point this out? To inadvertently put the thought in my head that (shock, horror) actually, she could still be doing it when she’s 18. And if that’s the case I have another 15 years with a potential three poos a day. IN HER KNICKERS.

That’s 16,425 pairs of knickers, people.

16,425 pairs of knickers.

An empty gesture.

I realise that people are trying to reassure me when they say this.

But honestly? It’s about as reassuring as an empty gesture. Hang on. It IS an empty gesture. Because basically when someone says this, they’re saying, ‘I have absolutely no idea how to help you but let me just say something, anything, so we can move onto something more interesting, like talking about my new coat.’

‘HEY! DO YOU LIKE MY NEW COAT?’

‘Sorry, pardon? I have no idea what you just said. I was momentarily distracted by ALL THE S***’

They don’t just say it about poo either. They say it about other stuff too, like sleep. ‘Don’t worry! He won’t still be sleeping with you when he’s 18.’ 

And 18 is always the magic age.

Yes. This has to be the most irritating comment ever. Because it relies on the fact that somewhere in between all the s*** shovelling and sleep deprivation, the poo fairy and the sleep fairy are going to enter stage left, wave their magic wands and, hey presto! Poo is banished to the toilet forever and little people sleep happily in their beds. Just like that.

Before they all live happily ever after.

(Yeah right.)

If you have any tips, share them, please! Share this post, if you like it. Then come on over to Surviving Life and Motherhood. If you all bring a pair of knickers, then that’s a few hundred less I’ll have to buy.

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