Scarred for Life. Again.

I took the minxes on a playdate yesterday. I’m still mortified…

Maxi Minx stripped off within a millisecond of arriving and poured herself into princess dressing up clothes. Midi and she then launched into a raucous game of hide and seek with some quiet, immaculately behaved children while me and Mini talked babies with 2 little squishies, one of their mums, and the playdate hostess. I knocked back coffee (3 hrs broken sleep. Again) to make my eyeballs speed up enough to maintain a watchful eye on my 3 tearaways.

“Mummeeeee! I need a wee-wee!” howled Midi, bursting through the door, accompanied by hand-clutching, leg-crossing and bending over, just in case I couldn’t hear. I strode over, swooped her up to the toilet, helped her wipe, flush, checked for splashes, struggled all the clothes back up and into place, handwashed, and released her back into the wild into the game of Hide and Seek.

I swear my bum only got to hover above the sofa when she came thundering back in. “Mama! Pooooo! I need a huge, mega poo!” Knowing Midi and her incredible intestines, I swooped back into action, but this time stood outside respectfully till she stopped grunting.

I opened the door and the green fog got me. Retching, blinded by the smell-induced tears, I managed to stop my half-naked little savage legging it and leaving a trail of poo everywhere. The … THING… lurking in the bowl, snarling at me, would take quite a few flushes. After 2, I decided to beat it with a stick. Maybe it would finally flush away if I broke it into pieces with the toilet brush? Two more flushes, lots of scrubbing, and what the hell am I going to do with the now-minging toilet brush? I released a wriggling and reasonably cleaned-up Midi, gasping some fresh air as I let her go. Back to work. Scrub. Flush. Scrub. Flush. Retch, retch. The bathroom was a mini one under the stairs, so no window, and the door wouldn’t stay ajar.

In the interests of not half-killing an unsuspecting innocent, I warned my friend and her friend not to go in the bathroom for a bit; although my friend is a babyminder, no one should be subjected to the stench Midi created. As I heard myself blaming the awful smell on Midi, I realised it sounded like I was trying to cover up. I’d spent a LONG time cleaning up after her, after all. Did they suspect me of creating it? The more I explained without going into too much detail, the more pathetic I sounded. I gave up. Drank my coffee. Blushed scarlet. Made my excuses, gathered up the kids and left for home.

Midi needs to eat a LOT less fibre…

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