Heido ho, Mr Hanky!
OK, this post most definitely needs a disclaimer. As the title suggests, it’s about poo. It’s one for the mummies and/or mommies of little kids, who have had their sensitivity to poo, vomit, snot, or any other bodily functions stripped bare quite a while ago.
Those of you with weak stomachs or anal dispositions (no pun intended)- you really, really don’t want to read this one.
Those of you who have me on Twitter may have seen I Tweeted about poo the other day. I apoligise for that. I really should know better. It’s just that I had a very, very traumatic morning. It involved a toddler, legs covered in poo, at 5am. And, worse than that, it was 9am, when we ventured upstairs to brush our teeth, that I discovered there was also poo on the floor and on the sheets.
Three years ago an incident such as this would have most certainly triggered gagging, vomiting, barfing, hurling, and various forms of ralphing.. However, my firmly ingrained mummy-ness being what it is, I just said, “Oh damn. Poo. I will have to clean that up”.
And went about my business, cleaning s**t of the carpet.
I love being a mum.
Poo, in all it’s glorious textures and hues, no longer fazes me. Nor does vomit, as I discovered a few months ago when I landed a pool of it in my cleavage, courtesy of the Chop’s inflamed tonsils and burning temperature. Snot is not even on my radar. Nor is pee.
Mothering small children has given me an iron stomach and a vast repertoire of stain removal skills. Not to mention a sense of humour, included free of charge, no extra psychological trauma required.
I only wish I could say the same for the Man.
I’ve briefly mentioned before, the Man has a chronic case of the wretches. It doesn’t take much to make him gag. Full spectrum rainbow yawns are a semi-regular occurrence. And when I say “it doesn’t take much to make him gag”, I’m not using the much maligned writing techniques of over exaggeration or poetic license, either.
The teeniest waft of poo is enough to make the Man gag. Way back, in the Early Days of this child rearing experiment, the Man did attempt a few nappy changes, bless him. The Chop was permanently traumatised by his father leaning over him, gagging, then leaving the room in a frantic run and not quite making it to the bathroom before he emptied his stomach.
True story. I have the stain on the bedroom carpet to prove it.
Another memorable moment may just include the Man, lovingly holding our freshly birthed first born in his arms, tears of elation in his eyes, leaning over and tenderly…..
…..vomiting into the sink of the delivery room.
The removal of a placenta is not activity to be viewed by those with weak stomachs.
Whatever. With two little kidlets in nappies, and one of those kidlets in super groovy modern cloth nappies, it’s a bloody good thing I’m around.
Mummies are made of strong stuff. It takes more than a little bit of poo to scare us.