The Day Took a Turn
I was outside, slashing the grass near the pit latrine when my daughter walked over and casually announced, “Mum, I need to poop.”
Ordinarily, she uses her potty, our tried and trusted plastic throne, sitting comfortably in the house. But in that moment, the pit latrine was closer.
And I thought, “Why not? There’s always a first time.”
She didn’t even get to poop.
Because immediately — and I mean immediately — her Croc fell into the pit latrine.
Just like that, gone. One second, it was on her foot; the next, it was deep in a dark, echoey hole I had no business trying to recover anything from.
I stood there frozen, slasher in hand, wondering how this was my life.
The Shoe That Meant More Than Rubber
Now, this wasn’t just any shoe.
It was her first shoe.
Her very first pair of Crocs. She had worn it for two solid years. It had outlived seasons, growth spurts, and most of her wardrobe. It had history. Sentiment. Soul.
And now, it was gone.
Not accidentally lost. Not outgrown and stored.
Gone into a literal toilet.
And all because I thought I was being smart by choosing “convenience.”
The Potty Was Right There… But So Was My Miscalculation
As I stood frozen, the sound of the Croc’s splash still ringing in my ears, I slowly turned my head toward the house.
The potty — the loyal, dependable, indoor potty — was right there. Just a few steps away.
Neither locked nor dirty. Not even broken.
Just… not as close as the latrine.
I had made a decision. A “mum decision.”
And just like that, I became the woman who traded two years of shoe history for five fewer steps.
What I Thought I’d Feel… and What Actually Happened
Honestly, I thought this would be a character-building moment.
One of those things you laugh about later. That you grow from.
I expected to feel wiser. Stronger. Resilient.
Instead, I just felt like the mum who lost a shoe to a toilet for absolutely no reason.
There was no poop. No progress. Just a traumatized child and an irrational desire to climb into the abyss and fetch a foam sandal.
But I didn’t.
Because deep down, I knew: the croc is not the same after what it has seen.
Gone but Never Forgotten (Apparently)
You’d think the story would end there — we mourned, we moved on, we bought new shoes. Right?
Wrong. It remained part of our conversations way after the croc fell into the pit latrine.
It’s been months.
Multiple new pairs have come and gone — pink ones, sparkly ones, even some that light up and cost more than my dignity.
But none have managed to replace The Croc That Fell.
Every time we walk past the toilet, she stops and says with toddler-sized conviction:
“That’s where my shoe fell.”
Like a tiny historian honoring her past.
She brings it up during:
- Dinner.
- Bedtime.
- Church.
- Supermarket shopping.
One time, we saw another child wearing a similar pair, and she whispered to me:
“Mum, like the one that fell.”
I am not okay.
Rest in Peace, Little Croc
You were brave.
You were sturdy.
Equally important, you survived playgrounds, puddles, and playdates.
You deserved better than a watery grave.
Rest well, little shoe.
You are missed.
And you are never forgotten.
Ever had a small parenting moment turn into a story you’ll never live down? Share it in the comments — or just send me a message so we can bond over the heartbreak of tiny shoes and toddler memories.
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