As a mother we learn to adapt to things… For instance going to the toilet, when I go to the toilet I bring Oscar upstairs, shut the doors to everywhere except the bathroom and his bedroom and let him roam whilst I go about dropping the kids at the swimming pool…. If you catch my drift. If you don’t… I mean shitting.

Anyway, this day was like every other EXCEPT I needed a few coffees to gtt started, rather than just the one, you know been as I’d been up in the night clambering down the stairs with my eyes half open working out which devil toy has got low on batteries and decided to sing a mumbled version of humpty dumpty! Anywho back to the story… So… My few too many coffees gave me a little bit of a dicky tummy, in my,how shall I word this….urgency to get the toilet I forgot one fatal move, to shut the spare room door.

The shits flowing quicker than liqueur at a stag do, and I can hear my new foundation making a trumping noise… The noise when ur at the end of your tube, except… Its a new tube.. Note my panic, I either run for the makeup and shit across the floor.. Or deal with the makeup aftermath, then low and behold the fucking door knocks… Its my zara order, I shouted through my open bathroom window to leave it at the door in which I got… ‘I need a signature’ so now ffs, I’ve grabbed the child under arm, covered in foundation, crampy crampy tummy… Got to the door…. Signed and…. SHIT. yep.. I clearly hadn’t finished.

My bedroom is painted in a lovely porcelain foundation, as is my child.. And me… Iv got shitty knickers. Happy Monday. Sometimes coffee isn’t the answer.