Poo. It gets everywhere. Of course I’m not talking about my own waste, good god no (there’s some things you should just not talk about when it comes to yourself), I’m talking about our one year old, Harry.
I was covered in poo at 6am. Literally covered in it. Having decided that 4.30am is a reasonable enough time to rise and shine, Harry had me up and chasing him around the living room. So when he crawled into his little underwater den, I didn’t think too much of it. Until he crawled out of it and then I knew.
I knew because aside from the smell, his bright white babygro looked as though someone had thrown a mud pie at him. Impressed I was not.
It wasn’t until after I’d had Harry that I gave poo much thought. I honestly don’t ever remember thinking I’d have poo’y nappies to change that’s for sure. I guess a bit like delivering Harry, I probably assumed the stork would fly back each time he dropped the kids of at the pool.
It’s funny how quickly you become accustomed to poo. Before you know you’re upto your elbows in it, you’ve inadvertently wiped it in your hair and somehow, somehow smear across your glasses.
I’ll never forgot the first poo Harry passed that was solid. My friend Em and I we’re visiting a pet store and before we headed in, I remember smelling poo. Of course, it was Harry so stupidly I decided to change his nappy on my lap, in the car… I peeled back his nappy and a ball of poo literally rolled onto my lap. Why did no one warn me of the perils of balls of poo for Christ sake?
So as I sit and type this, I can smell poo. Again. Only this time, Harry’s asleep, so this means only thing.
I’ve only gone and smeared poo over me.