That poor boys room is like a little jail cell, he eats, sleeps and shits in there. How she can’t even sit him in the kitchen to eat a slice of toast hurts my heart, even as busy parents you’re in the kitchen feeding the other kids, getting your own breakfast or getting lunches or play pieces ready, or grabbing a coffee. My heart hurts that this is his normal, alone in his room with the iParent and his breakfast and occasionally that human that calls herself mum will come in to film the performing monkey saying colours or animals or sounds.