‘He looks at me and asks what’s wrong? And I respond, ‘I’ve been punched by your son and your daughter has done a massive poop in the bath’

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‘It was a regular Monday. Like any Monday, and hubby and I ‘rocked off’ to see who would bath the kids and who would do the dishes. (I say rocked off as in paper scissors, rock, not some freaky night game, those days are over). Anyway, I won, or so I thought, and I got to bath the kids.

Before I go into this story, I need to tell you about my daughter Sofia (Fia for short)… this girl is sass, okay? Sass. She doesn’t ask questions as much as she demands, and with her little language they come in one worded aggressive shouts. She has that much authority you immediately do what she says. She heard the word bath and promptly approached me and said ‘off!’ Pointing to her t-shirt, then points to the bathroom and says ‘BARF!’ So, I promptly obey and say, ‘Aye aye captain!’ I mean who am I, but not her slave girl? She also occasionally points to me and calls me ‘Naaaawti!’ (Naughty) and furrows her brows so deep you feel you’ve been scolded, and it feels like the time your mother told you she was ‘disappointed in you’ … anyway. I’m getting to the point here… just hold on.

Another thing she does, is she also announces ‘Poopies’. She holds her little bum and says, ‘Ahhh poopies’… I mean I could toilet train the kid but I’m still in the trenches with the other kid who tells me he was too busy being a lion to go to the toilet, so he just HAD to pee on the carpet… Or my foot… and look, sometimes Sofia actually follows through with her poopies and sometimes it’s a two-hour warning, so unless you can smell garbage there’s no urgency to act when she says it.

I chuck both the little dirty critters into the bath because you can wash one stone with two birds, right? Or something. (I know what it is) And they’re both playing happily… I’m beginning to psych myself up to wash their hair and thinking, I wish I had chosen the dishes when Sofia stands up and says ‘Pooopies!!’ I’m like, dude, you ain’t doing poopies now, just chill. She goes back to playing and then Luca (the lion piss guy) says ‘Fia needs to do poopies now’… thanks for the commentary my friend, but she does not in fact needs to do poopies, I’m pretty sure she’s met her quota of poopies today.

So, I’m trying to carefully wash Luca’s hair without a trickle of what he believes to be acid onto his forehead because his screams literally speed dial child protection when Sofia says, ‘Oh no, poopies’

I’ve never heard her say ‘oh no’ before, and my mouth runs dry. I look over to see a massive brown turd between her legs. This turd looks like it came from a grown man.

‘Ahh poop!’ … ‘Poop!!!’ Both my kids repeat. Mother of the year.

I start calling out for my husband because I dunno, I’m not good in crisis situations and tell Luca with soap in his hair that it’s time to get out of the bath now, and he cries and I’m screaming louder for my husband because Luca is flailing around like an octopus slapping me with all his wet limbs because he wants to stay in the poop infested water.

Luca starts uncontrollably crying because I interrupted bath times, socks me in the face and runs naked and wet to his father which prompts his dad to come into the bathroom where I’m trying to pry his daughters’ tiny fingers away from the edge of the bath because she too refuses to leave the cesspool. He looks at me and asks what’s wrong? And I respond, ‘I’ve been punched by your son and your daughter has done a massive poop in the bath’ (I always call them yours when they do something I don’t like)

He replies with an, ‘Oh sh*t’ which sends off the two parrots again repeating his words over and over. He hands me a paper towel, I mean dude, what the hell am I gonna do with a paper towel? Dry the pop? Soak the bath water?

I tell him I’m gonna just have to pull the plug. Plug pulling results in the loudest slurping noise ever where both kids cry hysterically because it scares the crap out of them. Sofia sees what I’m doing and starts screaming ‘NAWTI!!’

I close my eyes and put my hand in and go to pull the plug when I hear:

‘Laura.’ Followed by laughter.

‘Bub’ followed by more laughter. My husband is looking at me like I’m the biggest idiot in the world.

‘Ahh Laura… it’s not a poop. Look at it properly.’

‘What?’ I take a look at the turd and don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

It was a freaking toy bear.

And he said, ‘In fairness to you, it did actually look like poop, so this time I’ll let you off.’ (there’s been other occasions where I’ve mistaken toys for other things. I wish I was joking. I actually have 20/20 vision. I’m probably just losing my mind)

Ahh brother bear, (pic in comments) you too shall join your siblings of lifelike animals in the bin. I’m also boycotting all toys bought from the zoo. They’re sending me to an early grave.

Both kids went back into the bath btw and I went and did the rest of the dishes.’

Laura Mazza

This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Laura Mazza of Mum on the Run, where it originally appeared. Submit your story here, and subscribe to our best love stories here.

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