I've spent the last few days cleaning up poo and more poo but today it was paint. Orange-red. DS looked like an umpa-lumpa.
So instead of going with DD to a table-top sale this afternoon (the hi-light of my sad little week), I was scrubbing paint off walls, floors, clothes, rugs while ExP scrubbed DS and we ranted about WHO LEFT THE FUCKING DOOR OPEN and WHAT IDIOT PUT THE PAINT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, etc.
My house is an old, cold, falling-down possibly subsiding old wreck. I have no money for repairs and can't get a loan. DS has smeared, defaced, pulled off wallpaper, gouged plaster, flooded, smashed, torn, ripped, demolished, broken or ruined pretty much everything he's laid his hands on.
It's tiring and relentless. Honestly, I think he has a superpower which is to miraculously create filth and gunk out of nothing and then smear it on my bannister.
We try to do so much to meet his sensory needs but it never seems to be enough. I'm pretty sure he knows he's not supposed to grab the washing-up liquid/shampoo/tomato paste/vaseline/flour and chuck it about with a big grin on his face but he just can't resist it. And because he's barely sleeping (the drugs don't work) we're so knackered we're not on the ball enough.
Note I keep saying 'we'. That's because DS needs 2-to-1 most of the time so I spend a lot of time with the man who no longer loves me. A bit hard to move on!
Okay rant over.
And just heard DS yelling thanks for reading x