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  • Jane

Where are the nappies?


I bring mum her breakfast. She doesn’t want to eat porridge anymore, so instead, I give her a toast with p-nut butter and jam cut into strips (the strips make it easier for her to eat with her one front tooth).

I notice that the toilet’s stuffed full of toilet paper and her pants are hanging on the toilet bar, soaking wet. I start to have an uneasy feeling that she’s taken off her nappies again and the whole bed, with all its layers, is pished. While she’s enjoying her tea I check, and sure enough she’s bare as a baby’s bottom. I take her tea and pull back the blankets.

My nagging begins: You can’t take off your nappies. It makes a lot of work for me. I feel like a broken record. I get her up and while I’m washing her I ask again: Why did you take off your nappies? You can’t do that cos everything gets pished.

She looks at me in a daze. I feel selfish and sorry for her, but I need to vent. She whispers: I don’t understand anything you are saying. She points to her head.

I collect all the pishy stuff and load the machine. I come back calmer and tuck her in. I give her a heat pack and her reheated tea, and I also give her a smile. That’s all she needs. The smile.

I get on with the tidying up. I can’t find her nappies - where has she hidden them? I search the room, and then I laugh out loud. There they are, in her toothbrush rinsing cup !


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