On this particular visit, my daughter was in the soft play while I sat chatting with mums from my son’s school. We were enjoying a good natter when an almightily commotion erupted from inside the soft play. Screams and shrieks and pandemonium. Mothers elbowing to get out, trying to shepherd kids scattering in different directions. It was chaos. My first thought was that a child had been seriously injured. There had to be proper carnage to warrant that level of noise. My next thought was that it could be my daughter. I bolted from our table with my heart in my throat expecting to see my little girl with a protruding bone from her arm. Or worse. Another child’s broken arm as a result of being clobbered by her. What I found was nothing of the kind. There she was happily playing in the corner of the ball pond, hidden behind the slide – without a scratch. Completely oblivious to all the chaos - which is very unlike her as she’s usually thick in the midst of it. The soft play was desolate. Not another child in sight. She hadn’t seen me, so I left her exactly where she was. As one does. Making my way back to our table, I asked a woman lurking nearby what all the fuss had been about. Wide-eyed and choking with indignation she replied, “Some child defecated on the floor. There’s faeces all over the place. Can you believe it!” She pointed to a blue mat with a small smear of brown smudged across the surface. “And what’s worse,” she continued, “another child trod in it. And then another child puked all over the place.” She was mortified. Disapproval and disgust etched all over her face.
I looked around at clusters of unsettled mothers flapping like hens. Their children straining like dogs on leads to get back inside. I had a panicked thought that perhaps my child had whipped off her nappy and proceeded to do her business on that bright blue mat. It wouldn’t surprise me. She does hide in the cupboard with the rubbish bin. She drinks bath water. She wears her potty on her head. Before I could make a move back inside to check, wide-eyed lady informed me that the child who’d perpetrated the "offensive" deed had been removed from the premises. Poor little blighter I thought. The child who’d stood in the mess was noshing on a doughnut to help ease the shock. Milking the attention for all it was worth, I guessed. The socks he was wearing when he’d stepped in the business had been disposed of. Staff proffering Ribena and paper towels were attending to the vomitter. A cleaning lady dressed in one of those suits that reminds me of bee keepers trudged past us towards the soft play. She also had gloves. A mask. A bottle with disinfectant and an industrial roll of blue paper towel.
Before she got to the entrance though, disapproving wide-eyed woman to my left mumbled, “I hope everyone gets a refund. No child can possibly play in there after that. I would never let my child near there. Think of all those germs.” As if on cue, my little girl chose this moment to pop her blonde head out of the ball pond, step daintily over the poo on the blue mat, circumvent the puke, and push the door open. “Hello mummy,” she said as she lifted her arms up. Wide-eyed lady’s eyes got wider as I picked up my child and gave her a kiss. I bid a fake farewell and walked away. But I could feel those massive eyes boring holes into my back as I took each step back to our table where I reported to the girls that the commotion was just a spot of poo. No cause for alarm. None whatsoever. We promptly ordered another round of tea.
On the way home in the car, I ran through all the things I wish I’d said to wide-eyed woman. “All that fuss you made for a little poo and some puke. Seriously lady, I let my kids eat sweets off the floor. I have caught their vomit in my bare hands. When my son was a potty-training toddler he climbed up a set of drawers to poo on our kitchen counter. He was so proud of his work he called me to show me. Delighted and overjoyed by his accomplishment. My husband took pictures of it on his phone and messaged it to our friends. My son also did his business on the side of the road on the way home from school while his nanny stood guard because she knew he’d never make it home to the toilet. I’ve changed endless poo nappies and puke-sodden sheets. I’ve wiped and cleaned and disinfected. Every mother has. It’s part of having children. It’s a part of life. Get over yourself. And shame on you for supporting that a child be vilified as a result of having a toilet accident. Who are you to judge anyway? Have you seen the size of your eyes? You must have. Can’t miss them. Take those gigantic judgy eyes and go and play in the traffic and I hope you stand in the biggest pile of dog shite. Then I hope you puke. All over your prissy white shoes.”
That’s all I’d have said. That about covers it. Subject closed. On poo and puke. Probably not for long though. I do have two young children after all. Poo and puke are as constant in my life as the sun and the moon. I’ll keep my normal eyes open for that lady. Till next time big eyes…
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| The scene of chaos. |
