|A mother's nightmare.|
"WHAT is that, Graham?!"
"Ruby gave it to me." (Ruby did, in fact, pass the illness on to Graham, but I doubt he realized that.)
"What do you mean Ruby gave it to you? Did you poop?!"
"No. Ruby picked it up and put it here (gestures to side of the tub)."
Images of Ruby fishing poop from the toilet with her little bare hands swirl through my mind ... thank goodness she didn't try and eat it. At least I hope she didn't eat it. And who left the toilet unflushed and opened? Is Graham just fibbing?
I look closer at the brown bits in the tub. They aren't the usual organic shapes that poo takes on when waterborn ... in fact, they are rather planar, though with jagged edges ... almost like ripped, wet cardboard ... from a toilet paper roll.
I remember finishing a roll earlier in the day, saving the cardboard tube, thoughts of toddler art projects dancing with ambition through my mind. Maybe I'd help Graham fill it with dried beans to make a maraca. Perhaps I'd cut it in half and Graham would construct a charmingly goofy pair of goggles. Or maybe he'd seize it from the side of the tub where I'd lazily left it and proceed to shred it into hundreds of soggy bits that will clog the 70-year-old plumbing beneath our house.
Maybe I'll throw some glitter in the tub to really make it Pinterest-worthy.