First off, this is a statutory warning to those who are easily repulsed. This piece is not pretty. It takes permanent residence on 21st Disgusting Street and this could probably have something to do with the fact that THIS piece, is about POO.
Ok so most of you who know me well must surely be wondering whether my lost marbles have turned up at the lost and found. And of all the wonderful topics in the world to write about, why oh! Why is she writing about poo you wonder?? Well let me tell you this, once you enter the realms of motherhood, shame takes a flying leap out the window! I mean come on! Months of being prodded and poked by random doctors and having exposed ones nether region to more random doctors and nurses one is left with just one question in mind: “Shame? What’s that?”
Anyway, poo is something that I have been terrified of ever since I was a kid. Yes, yes I know poo won’t jump up and attack me out of the potty but somewhere, sometime, something about poo must have terrified the hell out of me. I still don’t know what it is, my mum wouldn’t tell me and since I have an overactive imagination (courtesy far too many horror movies) I keep dreaming up the worst case scenarios possible, some too gruesome to even explain! My fear goes to the extent of swooning fits every time I need to wash up (but I do so somehow with gritted teeth and squinted eyes; followed by a long wash up regime much like Lady Macbeth!). Whenever I get food poisoning, my mum has the most horrid time in the world and I needn’t even bother explaining how! And now, how the tables have turned!
So there I was pregnant and super happy; all rainbows and hearts about my baby. I kept going on and on about how I was going to bathe him, pretty him up and make him wear nice clothes when my evil sibling of a sister pointed out an obvious fact that my mind just kept ignoring. “What about his poo? You know the baby can’t possibly clean himself!” and she smiles this wicked smile and my rainbow takes on 50 shades of Grey! Sinister being this girl! I further ignored her taunts and keep thinking only positive thoughts of crossing the poo bridge when I got to it. My water broke the next morning.
Thankfully I had my mum and a ton of relatives stay at the hospital and look after the cleanup of the baby while I had to just be a human milk bottle. We were home in a week and then began my never ending nightmare with poo! My mum and I struck a deal. She would handle the poopies while I handled the peepees. Well basically in grown up talk, mum would clean the poop and I would wash up when the baby pees. It was a lovely arrangement until that one time my mum had to step out urgently to buy the baby a mosquito net. I couldn’t beg and plead and ask her to stay behind because the mosquitos in our house were bigger than the baby! I also knew that I was sunk because when it came to lady luck, she preferred showing me a lovely little finger rather than giving me what I want. So yes, I knew that the moment mum stepped out of the house I would be wading in doody pool! But yes there was the dream of hope which I so desperately clung on to! “I’ll be back in half an hour” mum chimes and usually in “mum talk” half an hour doubtlessly stands for “I MIGHT be back in 2 hours!”
My sister kept me company and we kept joking about what we would do if the baby pooed before mum came. My sister did this hilarious impersonation of me fainting, we laughed like crazy and before we knew it 2 hours flew by in a flash. Aaah! I thought foolishly. Maybe my luck was changing! And then we smelt it!
The baby started wailing and my sister and I exchanged worried glances. She slowly peeked into the diaper and gasped! Oh no! where was mum? Then, feeling all motherly I dared to take a peek and thank heavens the baby had pooped just about the tiniest blob. Feeling giddy with courage I opened up the diaper and mopped up the babys bum with wet wipes and sent my sister to get a mug of warm water for a final wipe. I smiled at the baby, the baby smiled back. And then came a shuddering squelch from the babys tummy and out poured what I can only describe to be wave after wave of poo. My mouth went dry, my throat closed, my breath stalled and my head began to spin…and still the POOnami wouldn’t stop. I almost fainted right into it. I could feel my eyes well up with tears. From a distance I could hear loud screams (which turned out to be me on a subconscious level). My sister rushed into the room mug of water in hand and what she saw still haunts her to date! A happy baby with poo squirting out and an ashen faced me sitting there rock like just staring at all the poo and screaming! Yeah, it wasn't a pretty sight!
Would you believe after managing to calm me down, my sister and I managed to clean up all the poo? And would you believe right after we got rid of the last dirty cloth my mum arrived? Talk about timing! But she was proud of how I “managed” to stay sane after the incident! I was in a nasty stupor for a long while after the incident.
I handle poo much better now. What after seeing it on an hourly/ daily basis. I was cleaning up the babys boo reeking of confidence when my sister sidled up to me and said “Well done! You can handle baby poo! They say the more babies grow up the nastier their poo gets. All the best sister!”