Toilet Talk

Max has a long day on a Monday. That means I do too! After school and a quick bite to eat, we drive over to Muswell Hill and Max has an hour of dance (along side nine or so other teenagers with DS). He’s been going since he was very little, he was just seven years old when he started, and it’s his favourite pass-time in the whole wide world. Run by a wonderful lady called Sarah, who is beautiful inside & out. Then it’s on to Chickenshed, another passion and why we go to both in one evening rather than having to choose one over the other and miss out. Bit of a trek and a tad tiring, but well worth it.
That’s how I came to be in my pyjamas, sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting for Max. It was late, we were all ready for bed and he was in the toilet. My head was leaned against the wall as I patiently waited for him to appear. I know my place and was all set to jump to attention and supervise him brushing his teeth. I so wanted to crawl into my own bed and welcome the sleep I craved. But Max was sat on the toilet for what seemed like forever and in full ‘chat mode’. Such priceless gems of information can be gleaned from Max talking to himself. He does this all the time, but particularly while sat upon the toilet.
‘I hate it when they say I’m fat. I hate being fat. It’s all from that wrap I had for tea. I’m not really fat, it’s just my tummy. I wish I could fold it up. There, if I do that, it folds up out the way and then I’m not so fat.’
I wanted to weep. I sat on the stairs visualising the cruel playground at school, the mean remarks and the blunt jibes. I wanted to sweep my son up into my arms and make it all go away, make it better – and make him thin. Truth is, he is rather tubby. He carries a very large waist and being short and having the added burden of a low functioning thyroid, he is stands little chance of getting to grips with his excess weight. Max loves his food, but I make sure he eats healthily, Max thinks pudding is fruit.
But things slip in. Sausage rolls at parties, pizzas at a lunch out, Birthday cake, the odd treat, a sunny day ice cream, a biscuit here, a sweetie there. They all add up.
‘Why can’t I just poo it all out? Why does it have to stay? I’m not that fat, just my tummy.’
Similar thoughts I have had about my own weight! I catch myself in the mirror sometimes, shocked at the person looking. It’s not me. Max finally appears from the toilet and shoots me a grin on the way to the bathroom to wash his hands and clean his teeth. He’s completely naked, not in the slightest bit embarrassed and holds no issue with his body image – a least we got that right!