Parenting = shit harvesting

Yesterday I stood in a public toilet cubicle for a good 20 minutes while the boychild did a poo.

“Have you finished yet?”

“No”

“Still got some left?”

“Yes Mummy… can you turn round I like to be private.”

5 more minutes

“Finished now?”

And so it went on.

When both children were potty trained I thought that would be the end of shit harvesting. Hooray Mr MotherFudger and I cheered. Drunk with thoughts of how we’d spend those heddy hours away from pooey little bums. Delirious about the spare time we’d have without the argument over whose turn it was to do the nappy change.

How wrong we were.

As a proud naked bum sticks up with the tribal call of “Muuuuummmy I’ve had a pooooooooooooo” long after they’ve cracked potty training, the reality of shit harvesting continues.

When will it stop I ask myself? Maybe never.

I will take to my grave the sheer fury of my Dad if we EVER left poo streaks in the toilet (his personal pet hate). I now know why – because he’d had enough of shit harvesting deep into our teen years when long gone are the nappies or bottom wipes, but you’re into reminders to “use the bloody toilet brush”.

It’s all a phase, and for shit harvesting it’s one that clearly never passes but just changes. Like so much of parenting.

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