If you think you had a bad day, spare a thought for weary old me. I fought a brave fight, but I might as well have been slaying dragons and conquering ticking crocodiles. Tiny got me again with smoke and mirrors. I trusted that small child of mine, and popped her in to bed, blindly, naively so. For ages she sang and sang, and my goodness, that girl continued to sing.
She sang her little heart out for over an hour. And that's when my brain finally twigged. I went into that small child of mine's bedroom to discover she had de-nappied herself. She'd damn well de-nappied herself and spread a distasteful spread through her bedding.
I quickly got her out of there. Macgyver would have been proud. I got her out of there quick smart, de-pooped her, deposited her on the couch with her big bro, stripped the bed, changed the bed (second time today) and put her back into bed.
She continued to sing. And then finally slept.
Damn me forgetting the fool-proof onesie. But it's not just any onesie. It's the crotch-popping onesie, because she can't pop it. Beware the sleep deprived, naive mamas of the world. Small children around the world are quietly removing their nappies, singing their sweet songs, and that is when trouble hits.
Photo above is totally unrelated, of Tiny pushing a tiny trolley at Bunnings. Thrills do come cheap in our family.
