Ode to the loo.

Mummy McTavish's toilet was manky,

Each time she looked in there it made her more cranky.

It desperately needed a really good scrub.

What was stopping her? Her one year old bub.

He likes to follow her in there and sit

Not even worried by the smell of the....

(um, sorry, I can't think of anything that rhymes with sit)

Getting himself all icky and grotty,

From all the splashes where his brothers miss the potty.

(sorry if you are eating right now)

She wanted it clean, sparkly and shiny.

A nice little place to sit down her small little hiney.
(that's what's called poetic licence)

But cleaning in there is a mammoth task.

And baby free time seems too much to ask.

So there the loo sits all filthy and gross.

She's hoping the grott hasn't reached lethal dose.

So, because of the yuck-ness in the littlest room...

Imperfect McTavish is her new nom de plume.

But she's got running water for the porcelain throne

and while she longs for one to call just her own

She's happy with her lot in this life

A nanny, chef, cleaner, mummy and wife.

So, I tried to turn things around at the end.  I do desperately want my own toilet that I don't have to share with a bunch of males, but there's more important things in the world.  I do desperately want to be able to clean the toilet that I have to share, but it's just not worth letting Monkey play in there while I do.  So, perfectly imperfect me will leave it the way it is a while longer... and aren't you glad I saved you from the photos for this post?

Still playing along with Kate at Picklebums for her celebration of imperfection.  Trip the link-fantastic on her first imperfect post here.