Tuesday, April 24, 2012
The Bum-Washing Button
Small T-Bone is struggling with life a little. I'm writing this as I wait for him to pop out of his room again with another crazy request. He's just begging to get busted at the minute. He's having a three-year-old crisis, and showing his dissatisfaction with life through baby voices, random naughty attacks, and a good line in pants-wetting. If I had the head-space I would think it through, like I did when his sister was this age. But George has recently begun screeching like a baboon every time I move more than a metre away from her, the washing pile teeters higher than my head and my back continues to give me the gift of daily pain.
I feel bad for my darling middle child. I know he needs more of everything. Attention, outdoor playtime, discipline, cuddles. But his decrepit ageing parents are time-poor and very, very tired.
At Nanna's today, he sat on the toilet describing the process of his poo to me while I gazed in the mirror at my grey hairs. 'Now wash my bum with water!' he told me after a little while. Jesus, I thought. Have we come to this?
'I am not washing your bum with water, Teddy' I told him firmly. 'That's what the bath is for.'
'No, the button,' he said. 'Press the bum-washing button!'
Ah. I pressed the flush and watched Ted push his little bottom down into the toilet with delight. We have a waterless composting toilet at our place. So he's come to his own conclusion about all these crazy flushing toilets he keeps finding.
God bless him. Especially when he's asleep.