I have been thus far disappointed with how many effluent stories I have accrued from my boy child. According to stand-up comedians (who I trust implicitly) my penis-laden child would be pissing in my face, in his own face and all over the room like the Chuckle Brothers holding a fire hose (the Chuckle Brothers is coincidentally my nick-name for testicles -and would be properly apt if only testicles were wrinkly enough to double for the aged comedians).
I think he pissed on his own head once.
What a let-down. I can’t believe comedians lied to us so badly.
But this morning there was some excremental fun to make up for the lack of micturition-action.
Look away if you are not interested in baby-poo. But come on, who isn’t?
Our son continues to do many of his poos on the toilet. We know when to put him on, based on if he’s just eaten or what face he is pulling and he generally waits as long as he can. Often he’s done a little bit in his nappy, but manages to hold the mother lode.
This morning I could see from his face that the turtle’s head was emerging so I rushed him to the downstairs loo. The family bathroom upstairs has more room and a handy changing mat and nappies, but I didn’t think there was time to get there.
Sure enough there was a little bit of poop in his diaper (just trying to be inclusive for my American fan), but surely there was more to come. But when I tried to sit Ernie down on the look he squirmed and pushed himself away from the seat which is usually a sign that he is not interested in expelling waste. I persisted, but he was insistent. So I carried him with his bare arse the short distance to the changing mat and nappies in the living room.
At the mat there was more cleaning up than I had expected from such a tiny poo and skid marks on his legs which was weird. It took me a few moments to understand what had happened, because it seemed impossible. But there was a large turd on the floor next to a toy bus. I looked at it confused - perhaps it wasn’t poo, but if it was how had it got there and how long had it been there?
It was poo. And I realised (quite slowly) that it must have exited from my son as I carried him over. But how the Hell had I not noticed him doing it and how the Hell had it not hit me? The baby was in my arms. But clearly the bomb bay doors had had the space to open and drop their deadly gift on the carpet below.
It was annoying to have to clean up poo, but I found it quite funny that this had happened. I turned around and saw there was more poo on the carpet behind me. It was a carpet bumming and I had not seen or noticed any of it.
Phoebe came across to express disgust and laugh - she finds poo unbelievably amusing, more so than even I did as a child (and almost as much as I do now). I don’t know where she gets that from. Though to be fair later in the day I used her tunnel toy to pretend to be a caterpillar and then when she crawled into it I complained that she was crawling into my bum and said I was going to poo her out. But I can’t see that such games would be any influence on her sense of humour.
She also pointed out another turd that I had missed nestling on the back of the sofa. How much poo can one baby expel in two seconds and why had he seemed so insistent that he didn’t need to go.
My wife, who had told me to go upstairs, was very much “I told you so” and my complacency was punished with the subsequent clean-up. My baby looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and like poo wouldn’t spew secretly out of his arse. I was just fearful that I had missed a baby pat that might be waiting to ambush me later, for the final punchline.
At least we didn’t waste a nappy.
That’s what we call diapers over here, Brad.
And at last my baby pays off with an anecdote almost good enough to put into a stand up routine. If only I was the kind of comedian who could make such childish stuff seem amusing.
To be honest I was mainly pleased because I knew what I was going to blog about at 8 o clock in the morning. It really take the pressure off for the rest of the day.