Yesterday was almost domestic stay at home for a day motherhood bliss. Almost. Hanging washing on the line with the buss of bees droning in the distance and the fragrance of several types of blossom floating past. Grace helping or playing nearby and being the most charming child imagineable. Going to the library and swimming lessons. Wearing underpants for two days in a row. Without being asked. Just taking her nappy and tights off in the morning around ten and appearing in a socks and underpants combo.
And until yesterday, the little accidents were of no consequence. Then there was a doosy. Sh*t from waist to toe, wriggling child, freaked out mother and washing like you wouldn't believe. And I thought my scraping days were over. Never mind, I didn't totally lose my cool and while Grace was in the bath before her nap, we had a lovely chat about not doing pooeeys in your underpants. But I'm not sure that she quite understands the signals of when she needs to go. It's all happening but probably not in a totally linear way. Like I'd like. Still, she's timed it well. Because I think I'll be doing some extra washing for a while. And like, trying not to be so uptight.