I wasn’t sure whether to share this story as it’s a story about poo and I didn’t want to lower the tone around here. Then I remembered I’d already admitted to rubbing vomit into my jeans so I think the tasteful and sophisticated ship has sailed, along with my dignity when I was in labour.
Just to set the scene, the proof is in the
pudding nappy that we’re making headway with weaning as things are solid. Things are looking human. The other morning I dragged my weary self out of bed and took Henry downstairs, where we began our usual pre-breakfast routine of playing on the rug – albeit playing in the loosest sense of the word as what actually happens is that I lie next to Henry trying to keep him occupied enough by his toys that he forgets how much he likes to bomb off into the kitchen thus gaining me a little more time spent horizontal.
A few minutes in and it was clear that some toiletting had occurred. I promptly dealt with it before resuming my prior position. A couple of minutes later and Henry was making his way into the other room so I stood up to retrieve him. And that’s when I saw it. A smear of poo across the very pale coloured rug. It then dawned on me how it must’ve got there. Clearly a piece of poo had unbeknownst to me escaped the nappy, landed on the rug, and I’d laid in it. I’D LAID IN POO and embedded it into the rug. What a FANTASTIC start to the day.
I’ll leave it there but let me tell you, what can’t be cleaned with WaterWipes probably isn’t’ worth cleaning.