Leaving Children (a surprise poo story)

Susannah Montana - 14 May 16

This week my lovely Dad came over to look after my wee boys (B, an unruly nearly-three year old and A, a red-cheeked, snotty, teething eight months). It is true what they say, somehow it is easier to leave the second child, although I love him no less than the first. Even so, whenever I leave them, if only for short periods, I feel terribly guilty and suddenly become overwhelmed with the urge to control every possible scenario that may happen in my absence. I want the boys to have a nice time, I want the person watching them to have a nice time, I want the dog to behave himself. There would be little worse, in my view, than to return home to find everybody miserable, panicked or grumpy – not because they wouldn’t all survive perfectly adequately but because it would put me off leaving them again.

In my experience, the key to feeling in control is always to make a nice list. So, prior to departing I ran through with Dad all the things he could possibly need to know: location of nappies, wipes, cream; the timing and quantities of snacks; how many chocolate buttons B could eat; where to find seven changes of clothes (just in case); how to make sure B receives the right colour of cup (thereby avoiding otherwise inevitable tantrum); what exactly a “green Power Ranger Energem” is – that sort of thing. Everything covered. I would be gone for a grand total of four hours, which would be just enough time to travel to and from the hairdresser, drink two blissfully hot cups of tea and dunk several of those delicious crumbly wee hairdresser biscuits and emerge with lovely radiant new tresses (which would survive for at least twenty minutes before being grabbed by the baby and covered in Petit Filous). Considering the relatively short timescale I felt I had covered all possible eventualities.

I breezed back through the door after my hair appointment to find B playing away happily with his Transformers and A grizzly gnawing on his Grandad’s shoulder. My Dad looked a tad frazzled but otherwise unharmed – all was well. I almost didn’t dare to ask…

“Erm, was everything okay?” I tried to be as nonchalant as possible whilst putting on the kettle and depositing some stray rice cake crumbs in the sink.

“Wellll…..”

Over a much needed cup of tea, it emerged that whilst Dad had been changing A’s nappy, B had taken it upon himself to remove all his clothes (pretty impressive for a toddler who usually sits down and says “I can’t do it” when asked to take off his own socks), go out into the garden and take a massive dump on the lawn. Not the end of the world, but I am not finished yet. Dad had scooped up B, taken him inside and got him to the toilet. Unfortunately, whilst that was going on our dog, Eric, a totally bonkers ginger creature, bounded his way out into the garden (he doesn’t really run like normal dogs, he bounces)…. and rolled gleefully in the poo. I’m still not done. On discovering this horrifying scene, Dad shoo’ed Eric, who stood up, looked at Dad, looked at the poo…. and ate it. B, sensing an opportunity to make amends with Grandad, ran into the garden to comb the poo out of Eric’s hair. Yep, you’ve guessed it, using Grandad’s comb. All this while poor Dad was still carrying A about one handed.

After I’d stopped laughing (sorry Dad) I assured him that this had never happened before and apologised that this scenario had not appeared on my list. I asked B for his take on how the morning had gone and he responded with a wicked grin and a cheerful “it was great”.

So, apart from the fact that I just quite like a good poo story (I think this is something that you become more okay with once you have small children and start having to look at other people’s poo on a daily basis), I think the moral of my tale is this: there is no point in overthinking leaving your children. You can plan it as much as you like, but from the moment they are conceived to the moment you leave them for the first time, they are always going to do things to surprise you. Sometimes, just occasionally, it’s quite nice when they surprise other people instead.

Susannah Montana

Mum to two gorgeous, hilarious boys, wife to burly carnivore, writer. Luckiest girl in the world.

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