When you have a baby you suddenly become obsessed with poos (well to be honest I've always been a bit obsessed with poos - I love a good chat about bowel habits - so if you think toilet humour is quite foul and get a bit squeamish around all things gut orientated it's perhaps best if you move along now to another blog - perhaps one that talks about food or other frivolities - this post will be all about poo).
Babies poo a lot - at least in the beginning - after practically every feed they present you with a full nappy. It becomes a bit tiresome after a while, although I still delight in the noise of it all, it makes me giggle. However during the earlier part of this week Master Jones seemed to have had enough of pooing. He's gone one or two or occassionally three days without one in the past but this week we got to four and then five.
It became the topic of every conversation. There were texts and emails being fired across the country enquiring after the elusive poo. The styles varied from the inquisitive - "Any poo yet?", the slightly coy (probably from someone who isn't really into toilet humour but feels they must be polite and enquire) "has he been?, to the slightly rude "Hey, is your baby still full of S*&t?" and on day six - simply - "poo?"
Yes day six! On day five I called the health visitor. "Erm it's about Rufus - you see he hasn't done a poo for five days now, he's a bit grumpy, should I be doing something."
"Right dear," says she in a slightly -'oh another neurotic first time mum' tone of voice. "Are you breast feeding? They can go up to two weeks without doing one."
"Two weeks!!!! He'll explode."
"Just feed him for England, massage his tummy when he's calm, give him warm baths to help him relax and keep him upright in a sling close to you. If he still hasn't gone after seven days take him to the doctors."
So I duly started feeding him every two hours. I tried massaging his tummy, he was not amused. He grizzled through his baths and was generally a very grumpy little man. So focused had I become on the poo that I even found myself talking to his tummy post feed asking Mr Poo to come on out and see us! Nothing seemed to work. I was beginning to wonder where exactly on earth six days worth of poo was residing in such a small being when it happened.....
I gave up feeding for England and went back to our three hourly routine. He obviously felt like he was being starved and settled in for a marathon mid-morning snack. Then I got that unmistakable waft of dirty nappy. My sister says they smell like ham, but to me they smell like a microwave two days after you've made yourself some of that delicious buttery popcorn. A kind of rancid, sweet, buttery stench that lingers.
Master Jones is the king of the stealth poo - they creep up on you unannounced and assault your nostrils. This one could offend my nose all it liked - I've never been so happy about a poo in my life. I danced a little jig of glee up the stairs.
I opened the nappy and couldn't help but feel disappointed - such as small amount of poo for such a long time. My dismay didn't last for long. All of a sudden there was poo oozing out everywhere. I tried to contain it in the nappy but it couldn't take it, this was the poo to top all poos.
The clean up operation was immense and involved half a pack of wet wipes, a quarter of a box of tissues, a towel and a bin liner. It was really a two man job. My hands were covered, Rufus seemed determined to dunk his feet in the carnage and threatened to leave poo prints on my top. But by some miracle I managed to keep both of our outfits clean - his because it was up around his neck - and mine because I was doing all of this with my body on the opposite side of the room to my arms!
Clean nappy on, I got him dressed again and popped him under his mobile to recover with a good kick. I dealt with the fall out, washed my hands and went to sit down to watch him giggle at Malcolm - the pink monkey with the black and white striped legs. But there it was again - that popcorn smell. I unpoppered his trouser leg and peeked into his nappy - more poo. This time the whole thing was full to bursting and I'd only just caught it in time. It kept on coming - I gave up with the wipes and fully sacrificed the towel that had taken a hit in the last onslaught. I waited a full five minutes, holding his feet in the air to see if there was anymore to come before I finally got him clean.
There was a time in my life when I really wouldn't have found it acceptable to be covered in someone elses poo. But not anymore. My jolly little baby was back and I'd spend everyday covered in poo for his smiles. I wonder how long it'll be before we get the next one?
PS - technical hitch still in full swing - pics to come soon.
Mrs Jones is a far from yummy mummy with a penchant for M&S fudge bars and a mojito on a Friday night. She became Mrs Jones in 2009 and a mummy in 2010. In 2011 she is attempting to remember her own name and not put washing powder in the dishwasher....