In 23 years of changing bums I have just had the most horrific and amusing poo nightmare ever. Noah slipped off to the bathroom to do a poo, he usually hides under the table for biggies but this time took solace on the bathroom floor.
Shortly after I’m sitting on the living room floor armed with a nappy and an instruction for someone to find the wipes so I could change his bum whilst summoning Noah….the teenager took the wipes to her room. Preparing my area with him stood patiently waiting next to me absorbed in the TV he produces his hand ‘there’s poo on my hand mum’
I knew the trauma in that split second and it registered before my eyes even met it.
If you can imagine squishing a ball of sticky clay or maybe scooping chocolate spread from a jar then you’ll have a pretty accurate image of my greeting.
My assumption was that his nappy had released itself under his jeans. But my priority was to sort out the hand attached to the wrist I was grasping tightly on to.
I was still loudly delegating the kids on the importance of finding the wipes whilst giving consolation to Noah that it was ok. Bless him. I smiled sweetly. He was ok.
‘Where’s the wipes’
‘I need the wipes’
Where’s the wipes’
The wipes are located in the teenagers room.
3 god damn wipes. Dried out.
So I use one to get the bulk from his fingers but needed to sort out his trousers and nappy hanging on his bum before I attempted moving him to the bathroom.
Two wipes. Nowhere near enough but two wipes was the reality. We’d given up the house search. Elis refused to look in the car in just his pants (he was changing for bed when it happened) and I could not leave anyone else in charge of holding Noah’s wrist.
At this point I contemplated using the tanning wipes Mila had produced. It was something I weighed up.
I opted for the delicate trouser removal and discover there’s no nappy. A discovery made at the point of assuming that the warm bulk in his trouser leg was a nappy in slipped down situe. To be clear, the bulk was not a nappy.
Eden confirms from upstairs (after summing up the situation via my wails) that she’s putting the bath on.
It was a nightmare. Trousers pulled off in a teamwork effort by Elis & I, he pulled the legs from the bottom whilst I held in the air by the armpits.
Socks were covered and by that stage swilling and wringing them out in the toilet was neither here nor there. Trousers went in a carrier bag.
The consistency was clay so his legs were not pretty. That stuff doesn’t break up in the bath. It’s a scoop job or push down the plug hole.
Noah was happy. We made light of it. I told him I’d pooed my pants. He was happy.
Turns out he’d tried to take his jeans off to go on the toilet like a big boy but failed, thought no one would notice I guess. Bless him. He was trying to be a big boy.
Bloody baby wipes.
I won’t even go into the story of the ball pool soft play area…