Chapter 3
Mum isn’t up yet, so you and Bow Kid settle in to watch some TV. You turn the volume down to not wake mum and take a spot on the carpet in front on the TV, lying on your stomachs, your feet swinging in the air. You watch half of the cartoon that was going when you turned the TV on, then watched the whole next one.
Mum still wasn’t up, but it was her day off, so she was probably sleeping in.
“Hungry?” you ask Bow Kid.
“A bit.”
Before the next show can come on, you wonder if there’s any breakfast stuff that you can make. There’s probably cereal and bread in the cupboard or some yogurt in the fridge.
“Lets get some food,” you say, climbing to your feet.
Standing up, you can see Bow Kid’s dress has ridden up while her legs swung in the air, exposing her nappy. Giggling, you take her hand as she wonders what’s funny.
“I can see your nappy!” you sing song.
Bow Kid gives you an embarrassed smile, then something bolder crosses her face.
“Boop, boop!” she goes, suddenly swatting you lightly on your nappied bum, each hand in time to the sound.
The surprise makes you jump slightly before you both break out into giggles.
In the kitchen, you ask Bow Kid what she wants to eat.
“Ooh! Mango jam!” she says, spotting it among the jars you pulled out of the cupboard. “Lets try that.”
You have to stand on your tippy toes to reach the toaster, but soon you’ve got toast going and plates out. While you’re waiting, you poke around in the fridge to find some apple juice there and pour you and Bow Kid a glass each. Once it’s done, you spread butter and jam on your toast before taking both back to the lounge room for more cartoons. You’ve only missed the first few minutes of the next cartoon as you reclaim your position on the carpet.
“Mmm — I’ve never had mango jam before,” says Bow Kid as she bites into her next slice.
“Yeah, it’s good.”
Once you’ve finished you push your plate away. It knocks over your glass.
Your freeze for just a moment, realising how close you just got to making a huge mess on the carpet. Thankfully, you already finished the apple juice and nothing spills.
Looking at Bow Kid, she’s looking between your toppled glass and her half-full one with worry.
“Are we… allowed to eat here?” she carefully asks.
You have an uncomfortable look on your face. The dry food was probably okay if you didn’t make a mess, but mum would normally insist that glasses go on the coffee table and not the carpet where they can get knocked over. She would make an exception for just water, but not sticky things and definitely not milk.
“Sort of,” you tell her. “Toast is okay… but I’m not supposed to have sticky drinks on the carpet.”
Bow Kid gives you a guilty look, but that’s not fair to her because you didn’t tell her, which makes you feel guilty.
“Should we take this back to the kitchen?” she asks.
You probably should. You nod.
You both get up and Bow Kid takes the opportunity to drain her apple juice. As you walk to the kitchen however, you realise you really need to go potty, and not the wet kind of potty. You’re not sure what to do though; you need someone to unzipper you and then you need to get the nappy off. But laying down seemed to have hidden the need, and even this very short walk back to the kitchen is enough movement to get your bowels moving. B the time you’re putting your plates in the sink, you really need to go.
You can barely think as you quickly say, “I’ve got to go to the loo,” before power walking to the bathroom.
Closing the door behind you, you remember you need help to get your onesie off and turn to open the door, but suddenly you feel it. You can feel that you are really close to pooping yourself. You panic, clenching your muscles to stop what your body is trying to do as you fumble with the door handle. When you get it open, you’re about to cry out for help when you remember mum is still asleep.
There are several agonising seconds as you consider walking back to the kitchen to ask for help, but another contraction and another attempt to clench tells you that’s a really bad idea. You’re certain that walking will make this worse.
“Can — can I get some help?” you desperately cry out, your hands grasping the edge of the door in a white-knuckled grip.
There’s a second or two before you hear a response of, “Yeah?”
“I need some help — help with the zipper.”
You want Bow Kid to come running, but when she doesn’t appear a few seconds later you realise she hasn’t noticed your urgency.
“Please, come quickly!” you cry.
You can feel your eyes tearing up in humiliation, in knowledge that you’re on the verge of messing yourself. Hoping that Bow Kid is coming quickly, you try to walk back towards the toilet. It’s difficult; you can feel the mess trying to escape as you do.
You vaguely register the sound of the door opening and glance over your shoulder. Feeling utterly terrified that you were about to humiliate yourself in front of your friend, you can see her own face is laced with worry. A few agonising seconds and Bow Kid unzips the PJs. With the zipper undone, your tug at the sleeves to get the garment off and shuffle some more, closer to the toilet.
Your arms now free, you push the onesie down over your nappy, squatting slightly as you do so. This was a mistake, you suddenly realise, feeling the mess begin to peek out of your behind. You pull in a shocked, ragged breath, your eyes swimming with tears as you stand straight up.
Bow Kid is looking at you in worry, clearly unsure what to do.
Your insides clench again, more painfully this time as you halt the progression of the mass. You take one, then two, deep breaths, before carefully pushing your PJs down, trying to not bend over as you do so. Now you need to get your nappy off.
It’s obviously wet, the decorative designs on it faded, but you can barely think about that as you are reminded that you need to go, so you tug at the tapes and the nappy drops fee, lading on your PJs around your ankles.
As your bum finds the toilet seat, you can feel the mess already escaping you. You give a pained sigh of relief as you lookup to see Bow Kid leaving you alone to your business. In a mixture of relief and shame, you start to cry.
