Humiliations galore

Crawled out of bed at 6.30am. Pulled on my dressing gown, felt for my ugg boots, headed to breakfast. Except that, as I staggered out of the dark bedroom, I skidded on a turd.

Yes. Some drowsy child pooed in their night nappy, forgot, and took their nappy off. They rehitched their pajamas, and the turd, not completely adhered to their bottom, slid down their pajama trousers and onto the floor in my doorway, where said child had stood deciding if anyone was up yet. Unnoticed, it lay there until I, last one out of bed, found it.

Nothing like scrubbing poo off an ugg boot at 6.33 in the morning. Or cleaning the bedroom floor at 6.37. Or running a shower for a child at 6.41. Or scrubbing their pajama pants out at 6.47.

Sometimes, I get a little up myself. I think of myself as intelligent, composed, dignified, adult. I feel like I'm managing the family fairly well. Daily life is a wholesome mix of craft activities, healthy and nutritious meals, clean clothes, playing in the garden, and almost no tv. I'm doing okay, I think. I'm getting good at this. Ain't I fine!

And then I step in a turd.

And of course it changes nothing. It's just life, everything else is going along quite swimmingly, and we know how to manage bodily discharges round here. And yet it also changes everything. I'm no longer dignified. I ain't fine. I am literally hopping mad as I instantly flip from withdrawn sleepy adult to person jolted awake by the shocking realisation that here, in this house, this lovely airy and above all CLEAN house, some other human has deposited a turd on the floor. And I've skidded on it. And it's on my shoe.

Someone once told me it was good to be humiliated at least once a day to stay humble. These days, I'm feeling very humble. My shoulder is perpetually smeared by baby snot; my self-righteous five year old knows all the rules and just rebuked a tattooed man on a train for standing in the doorway; my three year old still requires urgent toilet stops in strange places, including at a tree in the service road off Queens Parade on Sunday evening. I'm taking it all in my stride - even this morning, all was calm bar the initial shouting.

But there are times when I could use a little less humiliation, a little more building up. Perhaps someone saying, Good job! Here's a pay rise! We're going to promote you! except there is no pay rise, no promotion for this job. No holidays, no sick leave, no super. The best you get is a small satisfaction when someone remembers to say 'please'. Or, better, a spontaneous cuddle on the floor of the hallway, or a special drawing to stick on the fridge. It's just that some mornings it feels like the poo outweighs the cuddles.

It's not all bad, of course. The cuddles are lovely. And as my partner pointed out, at least I was wearing my ugg boots today. I'm often barefoot in the morning.