A Spectacularly Shit Bath Time

WARNING: this one is about poo so if you’re easily grossed out, move on.

Picture the scene.

We’re back late from a weekend away visiting friends in London. After a quick tea Miss Belle is ready for bath, books and bed.

She’d done a post dinner poo, so I took her upstairs and changed her, leaving her nappy free, assuming she was ‘done’ in that area, for the night. In hindsight that was an error. One can never assume anything predictable or normal will happen with a small person, especially in the pooping department where Miss Belle is concerned. She was stood watching Daddy fill up the bath so I quickly went and took my contacts out in our en suite.

Suddenly I heard “quick… QUICK… QUIIIIICCCCCK!!!!”

It was one of those moments when your heart jumps into your throat. I ran round to the bathroom into a scene I now wish I could erase from my memory.

Matt was stood holding Miss Belle (more like dangling her in front of him), whilst fresh festering warm poo was being flicked off her feet onto the floor and onto Matt’s top.

At least she hadn’t drowned, I thought. But, great. Just great.

There’s a few things I’ve done since becoming a mum which have made me shudder and wretch, but this is up there with the best of them.

Typically it was an ‘eats-plenty-of-fruit-and-veg’ wet one. (Sorry, too much info?) There was no magic way to reverse the situation. I reached a new low point and got down on my hands and knees and wiped up the pile of steaming fresh shit, which she had stood in and partially smeared into the bath mat, whilst Matt held a squirming Miss Belle at full arm’s length. He always gets the better jobs.

She was really crying because he’d scared her by shouting, so he tried to calm her down – “ssh it’s alright darling, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you… I just turned around and you were kicking a turd around like a football!”

At this point we creased up. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

After many many wet wipes shifted the poo pâté, Miss Belle was clean enough to get in the bath. Of course she ended up having her usual fun bath time with Daddy, now oblivious to the chaos she had caused, whilst I ran around antibacterialing the floor and side of the bath looking around the room for more specks of shit.

Once everyone was clean, Matt got her to bed and then jumped straight in the shower to wash away the trauma and any traces of faeces, whist I had the pleasure of going back downstairs to make a weaning friendly vegetable lentil bolognese for our tea (and a few freezable dinners for her), and egg muffins for her lunch the next day. From scratch. Cos that’s what mum’s do.

So yep, that’s my new lowest point in this parenting malarkey so far – wiping fresh shit from my daughters feet, legs and arse, and the bathroom floor (which has since been bleached).

Please tell me it doesn’t get much worse?!

PS – sorry if you were eating whilst reading.

 

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