I got out of bed late today. I spent half the night waking up suddenly and thinking I was having a heart attack (yes literally!) - I am sure it's all stress related - and so I was very tired in the morning. But also, I just didn't want to face the day.
His nappy was not very wet when I took it off. I have been very vigilant with him all day, because there is no more 'pattern'. I took him to the toilet to wait for a wee at one point when he was walking around agitated. Stayed in there for ages. Nothing. So I brought him back out again.
I sat down right beside him with the bucket and towel within reach. I stayed there doing nothing, just being at the ready, for ages. Still nothing.
I went to get a coffee for myself and sit down to read some news - a five minute break if you like. I would get up to check on him literally every minute. Nothing.
Then, when I wasn't checking on him, I hear a splishing sound. He's weeing! Sitting down on the entertainment unit again! Lightening fast, I grabbed the bucket and ran to catch it. But by the time I got there, he either stopped the stream, or was finished. Fail. I want to cry.
Nothing else for most of the day, and I watch him like a hawk. I get nothing done all day because of it.
At dinner time, I warm up leftovers for the kids to eat, and then put a pair of jocks on Erik so he can sit down to have his dinner. (Yes! I managed to get him to wear them again! Win!). He sits and starts to eat, but keeps getting off his seat. I get a phone call from my mum that requires me to check something in another room. When I get back, I find he has wee'd. Sigh. I clean him up and put fresh jocks on him and put him back to his dinner.
He is halfway through eating when he decides he can't sit anymore. I know what is happening. He needs to poo. It's the same time as hit him last night. I let him off and watch him closely while I try to quickly put some potatoes into the oven for our dinner. Suddenly, I catch a light whiff....
I run over to him and check his jocks... yep. Little bit in there already. Calmly walk him to the toilet, take his jocks off and sit him down. I call out to my husband on the way if he could put those potatoes in the oven for me. I brace myself for the long haul.
I don't know how much time went by as I waited in there. Erik on (and off) the toilet, me sitting on a step stool directly in front of him to keep him on the toilet when he tries to come off. I don't know how long we were in there, with the odor of poo assaulting my nose, but there was nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He holds on.
All at once, my strength and resolve crumbles. I begin to cry. I weep and I sob like I haven't done in a very long time. The tears keep coming and I can't stop. I hope and pray no-one else in the house can hear me weeping. I am glad that my son can't seem to understand the emotional break-down occurring in front of him. I can't stop. I just can't stop. Every time I take a breath, I release it with massive sobs and heaves. It's just too much.
I try to clean him up while I'm weeping, so I can let him out. We have been in there for ages. He won't let me clean his bottom. I break down into fresh sobs again, and put him back on the toilet. Crying my eyes out, I just don't know what else to do.
A short time later, he comes off the toilet and I leave him be. It's pointless anyway. He's not going to poo there. Maybe he will poo standing up? He leans over me onto my lap instead, his poo-stained bottom not far from my nose. Tears are still rolling down my face as I take the opportunity to calmly clean his bottom with a wet wipe. Finally, I can let him out.
I meet my husband as we open the door. He takes one look at me and asks if I'm ok. I don't even remember what I answered with. I ask what time it is though, and mercifully, it is now bedtime for Erik. I go into the bathroom to wash the poo off my hands, scrubbing hard to get rid of the smell that always seems to linger. Noticing my reflection in the mirror.... I look a right awful mess.
I wipe my face and eyes and re-tie up my hair - Erik had pulled at it so it was all frizzy. A little better. I put his pyjamas on, daddy prays and we kiss the little ones goodnight. I still have to face my mother, who comes to collect some things for my daughters who are sleeping over there, and I still have to cook dinner for the rest of us. All I want to do is bury myself in bed and hide from the world.