I’d love to start this by saying all was grand but in reality, it wasn’t. It all started the day of the storm. Joe was home, dinner was on and by dinner I mean I added sauce from a jar to a big bowl of pasta I made that morning in case the electricity went. It didn’t, thankfully.
Anyways Joe calls me, ‘watch this’, he says.
‘KK, where is Iron Mans head?’ She smiles that cheeky smile. The one you know she’s been up to mischief and opens her mouth wide and points.
Right so. The first time mother in me probably would have called an ambulance. The fourth time mother in me said a big plate of this slop will surely push it out. Be grand.
We asked her again and again and again and she repeated the same big wide opened mouth and laughed as The Boy sobbed uncontrollably in the corner because The Big Kid may have told him it will dissolve in her stomach just because she’s an evil little witch.
Poo watch commences.
Twenty-four hours later and nothing. There had been a couple of solo toilet runs with a flushed toilet due to impeccable manners but surely it wouldn’t pass that quickly.
It’s now thirty-five hours and nothing. I’m getting a little anxious now as it’s been quite a while since my shit monster has actually had a poo. Joe tells me it’ll be grand and heads off to work. Me being me I rang him a couple of hours later and told him I was on my way to the hospital. I told him friends in a group told me so. Our GP advised an x-ray and gave us a referral. Joe may have muttered something like ‘tenner bets she shits it out in front of them’. I didn’t listen, I don’t listen.
It’s almost two days since she decapitated and inhaled iron man’s head and she’s literally ripping Halloween decorations off the walls of the hospitals waiting room. She. Will. Not. Sit. Still. She’s now begging people for food. Staring at people, inching closer, licking her lips. FML.
Three hours later and we’re next. Yah! The wild child decides she needs to go the toilet. Her queue is to pull her pants and trousers to her ankles and point to her lady bits. She is two after all. Off we go, again. And can you guess what she did?
There he was staring up at me with his little yellow eyes from the hospital toilet bowl.
Screw you, Iron Man.