I should probably apologise now for what I am about to write - you probably don't really want to know - but last night I spilt my son's wee on his head. I didn't mean to (of course!), but I was emptying his potty after, erm, its successful usage and I turned around and he was right there. Toddlers! They so know how to get under your feet.
I could be mean and say he deserves a little taste of his own medicine.
You see, last week as I was rushing to get ready for work I carried E to the change table to get his night nappy off and there was the sensation of something soft and warm on my foot. When I'd deposited him on the change table I looked down and there was a splodge of squishy poo, about the size of a golf ball, on the top of my foot.
I believe I shrieked.
Of course Shaun had already left for work so I had to carefully hobble to the bathroom, wipe it off, hoik foot into the sink, scrub ... all while E was instructed not to move on the change table. Amazingly I had my brand new cream linen skirt on ... and it was fine.