The Shame of Motherhood

There are some moments during motherhood where you just have to hang your head in shame – even if it’s not exactly your fault. There is another moment that all mothers have, and that moment often becomes a story to be told over the next couple of decades. That story is the poo story. Sometimes the moment of shame is intertwined with the poo story, as mine was on Saturday. I had a lovely morning. I had a morning meeting, and when I came home The Accountant, God bless him, had completely exhausted The Baby, who consequently slept the whole morning. The J Bomb then went to “Bunny’s with Daddy”. (Bunnings) Therefore, I had a delightful morning by myself, free to do whatever I pleased. Unfortunately I wasn’t pleased that this meant I was free to do the ironing, so in the end it wasn’t all that delightful. Except that the ironing basket receded considerably with the uninterrupted attention. Until I folded the washing that is. Then it was overflowing again.

So, once The Baby woke up, I took him and J Bomb to a 1st Birthday party. It’s a shame I didn’t check the invite before I left home. I would have discovered I was going to turn up half an hour early. Luckily, before the majority of the guests arrived, I caught Jonty over near the shed, pants down having a pee. Boys, sometimes they have no shame.  I cornered him, had a stern talk about the evils of public urination and advised him of the wisdom getting me to usher him to the bathroom should any further calls of nature occur.

So, once The Baby woke up, I took him and J Bomb to a 1st Birthday party. It’s a shame I didn’t check the invite before I left home. I would have discovered I was going to turn up half an hour early. Luckily, before the majority of the guests arrived, I caught J Bomb over near the shed, pants down having a pee. Boys, sometimes they have no shame.  I cornered him, had a stern talk about the evils of public urination and advised him of the wisdom getting me to usher him to the bathroom should any further calls of nature occur.

All seemed to be going well. J Bomb discovered that inside the shed contained sumputous party food, and dubbed it the “Party Shed” and made frequent visits there in between soccer and swinging on the swing set. However, I soon saw his little face poking guiltily around the corner outside the shed. Thinking he was acting guilty because he was about to relieve himself again, I went to investigate, and to my horror, he had hidden behind the shed to do a poo. Then he had trod in it, and walked around with poo on his shoe spreading it within that vincinity, which meant that I trod in it too. Kicking our shoes off, I marched him to the toilet. I was so embarrassed, and so angry! To let him know my displeasure I said it was time for us to leave. A getaway turned out to be not so easy as the exit was blocked by the birthday cake.

My mood mellowed somewhat while singing Happy Birthday to a non-existant one year old, (She had chosen the classic one year old, “Sleep Through Your Own Party” routine.) Jonty was terrified of missing out on cake and a party bag. After his sincere apology to the host, he was relieved to receive both. The food was consumed with an air of solemenity though, he knew that it was a close call.

I take some consolation that perhaps the embarrassment I felt on Saturday perhaps may match the J Bomb’s embarrassment one day when I regale this tale one day in the future. Perhaps his footy buddies will be interested…

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