I was in the kitchen tidying the bench. Hannah had been asleep for about 45 minutes and I'd promised Alex that we'd go to the park when Hannah woke up.
Alex wandered in to make sure I wasn't slacking, and I noticed a smell wafting after her. "Oh, do we need to change your nappy and put yucky poop in the toilet?" I asked. We'd been doing this together (as opposed to me disposing of the mess by myself) for a week or two in an effort to get her interested in toilet training and it was working.
She nodded, said "Yucky poop in the toilet!!" and trotted off into the lounge while I finished up what I was doing.
I race around to the bathroom to see Alex on the floor holding her foot. She climbed onto my lap for pain relieving cuddles. I looked over her shoulder to see why she fell. Water. Water everywhere. Up the walls. On the floor. All over Alex. And now all over me.
There was a sopping wet cloth nappy on the floor too.
Hannah is now screaming from her cot, having been rudley awoken by Alex's crying.
Did I say bathroom? I meant toilet. We were all covered in toilet water.
My good helpful girl had nabbed the nappy I was using as a change mat and was dunking it in the toilet in what I assume was an effort to put (imaginary) yucky poop in the toilet.
To the tune of Hannah's cries (getting more and more desperate the longer I ignore her) I turn the shower on, strip Alex off, pull the toilet door shut and throw her into the shower with a couple of cups. Then I remove my own toilet-watered clothes and wash my arms, find more clothes for myself (crawling, mind you, in an effort to avoid being seen through the windows), get dressed and go and rescue Hannah from the cot of doom. Not only had I ignored her for so long, she'd rolled onto her tummy and was so worked up she had apparently forgotten how to roll back onto her back.
I sent Nev a photo message.
"Esplain?" ...so I do. "Oh. Oh. That's not good. Kind of funny. From this far away. ...OK now very funny."
Hannah and I supervised Alex's shower, but I didn't want Hannah concussing herself on the hard floor while I got Alex out so I popped her in the lounge with an assortment of toys to keep her happy before going back to get Alex. Hannah promptly started crying from the lounge, which is not surprising given her recent trend of hating everyone that isn't mum. I finally convinced Alex to get out of the shower and marched her into the lounge to dry off and get dressed.
I'm met with Hannah head down, bum up, a favourite toy just out of reach, and crying louder now because she knows I'm in the room and haven't immediately leapt to her aid. So I let Alex go and rescued Hannah. Alex promptly dropped towel and ran away into the kitchen. "Argh, come back, your feet are wet! You'll fall over again!"
Luckily she didn't!
She just weed on the floor instead. While standing. Wee all down her legs. Sighing, I picked her back up and ran her back into the bathroom, turned the shower back on and threw her back in. Hannah started crying again because by now it is clearly evident that I hate her.
Paper towels applied to the puddle, I gathered up the damp towel and raced back to the bathroom to grab Alex. Again. Just as she's opening the shower door to get out. Doors clashed because our bathroom is teeny tiny, Alex slipped, more tears. I scooped Alex back up, assuming she had been sufficiently rinsed, and brought her back to the lounge. Again. More tears from both girls as I try to dress Alex (wanted to "sit up on the couch!!!") and calm Hannah down (staaaaarviiinnnngggg ohgod).
Alex cleaned, dried and dressed, I went and properly cleaned up the kitchen puddle, then fed Hannah.
So we didn't make it to the park after all. And I still haven't reopened the toilet door. Hope Nev doesn't need to go loo once he gets home.