Which is nice.
I love my son.
Which at the moment, is very lucky.
He has been out of nappies and only wearing pants since the end of August last year. He has had very few accidents, probably about five accidental wees. No accidental poos. Well, none with us. Two with the childminder but he doesn't like doing a poo at her house (he's a little odd), so I can understand those.
So, in the last week we have had two incidents. Two horrible, horrible incidents. The first of which wasn't too bad in the grand scheme of things. He was messing about and playing up at bedtime. He went to the toilet fine and we put his nappy on for night time. An hour later, a small voice through the monitor said "I've done a poo".
I trundled upstairs and went into his dark bedroom (which he shares with his sister). I could just make out a small boy proudly holding his nappy in one hand and a poo in the other. Lovely.
I cleaned him up, changed his bedding and pyjamas and explained that he should tell us if he needed a poo. And if he didn't tell us, he should never, ever, take his nappy off to see the poo (in the dark).
Then on Sunday night, it happened again. Only this time, he was very proud of having done a poo and taken his nappy off. Indeed, he thought it was hilarious. And this time the poo was not so well formed. Who knows what I have been feeding him. So, you get the picture.
There was poo everywhere. All over the place. It fell off him in huge chunks as he walked to the running bath, all over the cream carpet (will I ever learn?). It covered his neck where he had gleefully rubbed it in, it was in his nails and al over his legs.
After cleaning him off in near silence, I got him out of the bath and he started to giggle. Proper giggling. With his hands over his mouth. Giggling.
"It's not funny" I harumped.
He giggled more.
Five minutes later when I put him into bed he was still giggling.
It's not funny.
