There is crap on my wall. There is actual dried human excrement on the wall in my son’s bedroom. ‘Eww. How did it get there?’ I hear you cry. I can feel the weight of your judgement already, but I’m actually a very clean person! Let me explain…
Finn is teething. Three of the little buggers are poking their way up at once and as well as waking him up three times a night and giving him worse mood swings than a menopausal woman who’s trying to give up smoking, they’ve had a very negative effect on his nappies.
We’ve had some atomic explosions down there recently and apparently the charming child subjected his Granny to one when she looked after him last week.
Now, Granny only comes now and again and she’s not as well practised at dealing with poo as I am (oh the glamour), so in her rush to get him out of his soiled clothes she just yanked at them as hard as she could – sending a delightful spray all up the wall.
No-one noticed this piece of modern art until the next day as it was hidden behind the door. So I spent 45 minutes this morning scrubbing it away with dettol. To be fair, it looks as good as new, but I’ll always know there’s poo in the corner.