I cannot tell you how much I miss the days before I had kids, when all that would rouse me from my lovely, long, hours and hours of uninterrupted slumber (remember that??), was my alarm. Or perhaps the sunshine coming through the window on the weekend. Sigh.
Those days are gone.
This week, I forgot to close the gate on the boys’ room after finally giving in to an unhappy Teddy and taking him to bed with us. A few hours later, our bedroom door opened.
‘Mummy’, a little voice whispered. ‘I done a poo.’
Oh lovely. What he really meant, as I realised when I saw him shuffling in holding his nappy up around his shin inside one of his pyjama legs, was that he had managed to break his nappy so it was hanging off, and then done a poo. A big poo. ‘I need a new mappy’. Yes, Archie Bear. You do. ‘Don’t touch anything! Go to the bathroom, move directly to the bathroom, do not pass go, do not collect £200!’
What a way to be woken. PLEASE tell me it’s not just me that starts the day by hosing off a poo-streaked, giggling, wriggling toddler in the bath and trying to get as much poo off pyjamas as possible before throwing them into the washing machine? And PLEASE tell me I’m not the only one that does the washing-machine-shudder-fling? You know, the I’m-so-grossed-out-that-I-was-touching-that shudder as you throw the ‘garment’ into the machine with as much force as you can, along with an accompanying, involuntary, grossed-out little shivery noise – yyyuuurrrrgh.
Although I must say, toddler wake-ups are much more effective than an alarm. Wide awake in seconds.