In the hopes of preventing Rose from weeing on the sofa again, I invited her to the loo with me this morning. She galloped up the stairs in front of me, got on the toilet, then embarked on one of her enormously prolonged poos. By the time she had sung the third round of ‘Daddy’s taking us to the zoo tomorrow’ and flicked through a copy of BBC history magazine I was totally desperate. I tried politely enquiring how she was doing, then offering to wipe her bottom, then shamelessly begging her to get off. Finally when it was completely clear that she was laughing at me hopping up and down in pain, I lifted her off.
Strangely enough, the tables were turned when I took her and her friend Phoebe to the loo at the local museum. Phoebe did the same trick of refusing to get off the loo and unfortunately Rose bit her. All most embarrassing.
This morning I remembered it was Valentines day and I should go and say something to Jason, then I thought I’d finish the washing up first, then I broke a wine glass and cried. But he emptied the compost bin yesterday so that’s romantic enough for me.