The Worst Shit Story Ever
I hope. Naptime, my time to catch up and relax. Me, I start with the relaxing bit, so of course I was emailing friends, a cup of tea hot at my elbow. All is quiet, save for the tickatickaticka of my keyboard, and then, from above: bump, thump thumpa thump, scrape. I sigh, heavily. Inappropriate activity upstairs, must go put a stop to it. Creep quietly quietly up, wanting to catch whoever it is in the act, so as to determine the culprit without opening the wrong door and waking an innocently sleeping child. Attain the landing, breathing softly. Gah! Inhalation freezes in my throat. Oh, lordy, lordy! Can one spit out air? Can't I? Please? My eyes watered as a foul stench oozed round me, but which bedroom was the source? Little thumper, whoever he/she is, must've heard my muffled wretching, because they've gone silent. Gagging slightly, I sniffed outside one door then the next. It seemed to be coming from Riley's room. The door creaked very softly as I cracked it open. At two and a bit, Riley was no longer sleeping in a crib, but on my young daughter's bed, with his own pillow and quilt. I could just see the bed through the sliver of opening - and it was empty! But the stench: the stench permeated every square millimetre of the room. Taking a big breath of clear(er) air from the landing, I entered The Toxic Zone. The room of devastation, with the greeny-brown miasma of shit almost visible in the air, a stench so strong as to be tangible. Little Riley stood before me, his big punkin head hanging, sandy hair falling forward, masking his face. He is naked from the waist down. His evident shame holds him silent, but the evidence before me told the tale I will now recount. Riley had filled his diaper. Riley decided that, rather than call me, he was a Big Boy and could deal with it himself. Standing on the bed, he removed his very own diaper, All By Himself!! Oh-oh. Something fell from the diaper. Best pick it up and put it back. It pays to be tidy. Except now, oh no, he's got the mess on his hands. So he wipes them off on the wall. Little brown handprints adorn the wall by her bed. Handprints on the wall are Bad. Riley knows that! That's okay, we'll just wipe it off with the bedspread, no problem. Only, when the bedspread is lifted and scrubbing commences, the diaper sitting on the bed is upended, partly onto the pillow, the rest on the floor. Dear, dear, dear. Now what? He's scrubbed at the wall as best he can but now he needs to deal with that mess on the floor! What to do? Bedspread, pillowcase, and sheet are soiled, and can't be used as cleaning cloths, so he casts about for inspiration. And find it, clever lad that he is. Brilliant idea!! There's Emma's dresser, just filled with nice clean cloths for scrubbing up messes... It would be his footsteps across the room to the dresser, and the thud of the drawer falling out that alerted me to the mayhem unfolding. Sadly, I did not arrive before he'd emptied two entire drawers into the filth with his sticky brown hands. "Riley?" I'm not sure what my tone of voice was at this point, but I think incredulous might come closest. Who knew such catastrophe could occur in 132 seconds? His head lifts slowly. His green eyes are huge, wide with sincerity, pleading with me to understand, guilt mixed with the desire to reassure. "It's okay, Mary. I cleanin' up."