The Poo To-Do

It was early afternoon and I was happy in my work. Unsurprisingly I was in the kitchen and predictably I was baking. I wasn't just baking anything mind you, it was of course Chocolate Cake. I had decided that when the older children returned home from school they would be in the need of sustenance and the sustenance they required was in the lovely, moist, sticky, fabulous form of my their favourite cake.
     I was having a lovely time, measuring ingredients, pouring ingredients and chattering incessantly to myself. I had once again disappeared into my own little world. A delightful little world; all bubble-wrapped and rosy coloured. But, suddenly I came crashing back down to earth. I had realised something....something terrible. It was quiet.....very quiet....too quiet.

Before commencing my little baking/daydream foray I had set up Miss Tornado Two in her room and surrounded her with all the things she loves best; her dolls, her tea-set, her teddies. When I had ducked out of her room I had every intention of popping back into her room every 5 minutes or so to check on the little cherub. Unfortunately I had soon completely forgotten.
  
I really should know better. I am the Mother of four children after all and we Mother's all know that a silent child is certainly not an idle one.

So, I crept down the hallway apprehensively....terrified of what  I would discover in the little room at the end of the house. Relief flooded through me when I heard her little piping voice babbling away in her own special language. Hopefully she was happily playing a lovely little game with her dolls I reasoned.

Unfortunately that myth was dispelled the moment I entered her room.First I detected a slightly earthy smell. A discarded nappy lay on the floor in front of me. A short distance away lay an abandoned pair of pants. In the corner sat my beautiful and charming little girl...but she wasn't alone....she was surrounded by several long brown things...and she was playing with/in them!

The gorgeous darling looked up at me, smiled sweetly and said "Poopy"
'Yes darling,' I muttered weakly 'Poopy'
And so began the long and painful process of cleaning up the precious child...and the carpet...and her dollies...and everything else she had contaminated with her ummmmm, poo.

The Chocolate cake lay discarded, forgotten, rejected. For some reason I couldn't face eating it. I couldn't even look at it. Anyone care to hazard a guess why?