Yesterday I was getting on with the boring tasks which seem to make up the bulk of my life these days when the phone rang. It was Jay.
"Aw Nis, you have to get down to Egg's school. They just rang and said that he's soiled himself."
"What?! Oh No!" I moaned, and quickly hung up the phone and scurried around for a change of clothes, wet wipes and whatever remotely relevant products I could find within reach. I raced out the door and minutes later was somberly directed towards the kiddies' toilets where my first born stood 'shittily' defiant and without remorse, inside the stall.
He neither appeared terribly bothered (either about my horror stricken face OR the small group of children who had gathered at the bathroom door and were staring in fascination at their newest classmate, trying desperately to break past one of the teachers - a kindly woman named 'Val' - clad in elbow length gloves and staring pityingly at me.
Looking me straight in the eyes she asked, "Is Jake toilet trained?"
I affirmed that yes he most certainly was, but she didn't look convinced. Apparently this had not been a simple case of a wipe job gone wrong, or even the typical 'load in the drawers' scenario. Nope. Jake had soiled first himself, then proceeded to 'soil' - manually - the two sofa's in the reading area, several unfortunately placed toys, and the entire inside of the toilet stall including the toilet itself.
Now you'll recall that we had a similiar incident involving our fecally-fixated Egg when he was but a mere toddler, and of course it was at home...behind closed doors.
This time however we had an audience, and crouched down on all fours, derierre escaping my skinny cord hipsters, my humiliation was complete.
It was not fun. It took a long time. Eventually I conceeded defeat and had to bundle his filthy lower half into clean clothes and slink out of there with as much dignity as I could muster. I was mortified. I still am.
Only a few weeks into his new school and already he's established himself as something of a character. Will the children remember and tease him mercilessly? Will he turn into a maladjusted adult with psychotic leanings...citing early childhood trauma as a cause? Will he forever be labelled as 'Poo Boy'? My poor little Egg. Saying that - if he pulls this stunt again there will be big trouble. Not only will he be boycotted from any decent school within a five mile radius, but I shall be forced to stop baking my beloved homemade bran muffins (of which it transpires he partook of yesterday...possibly more than one?...oops).