So What To Do With Baby-Poo?
You know that poo baby I told you about yesterday?
Well I eventually went back for her.
I know, I know, I’m crazy, but I’d kind of gotten used to having her around. Plus, curiosity got the better of me, and I started to wonder just how much poo a baby could pump out. Turns out, it’s A LOT. Turns out that when your baby dissolves all her internal organs and ejects the liquefied remnants out of her habitus and into her holder, it is enough to fill one third of a baby capsule. This is a precise measurement and a scientific fact. Which means if you are the baby still residing in that capsule, you won’t drown, but you will have poo in all the creases of your umbilicus. You will have poo in between your toes, and you will have poo in your ears (this last one is only true if your mother has been vigorously swinging you to and fro in an effort to look nonchalant and groovy in a cafe she really should have left twenty minutes ago).
So how did we clean her up?
We went to the baby change room in the public toilets. We went there because there was no way that THAT chocolate milkshake was getting into my car. We considered our options carefully, weighed up our choices, and we simply tipped out the poo. We left the kid in the capsule (What? She was strapped in remember? I told you that yesterday) and just tipped. I even sang the tune “I’m a little teapot”, tipping at just the right moment. It was like Play School Halloween or something. Luckily most of the poo-brew tipped out.
Then we put the job lot, child and contraption, in the REALLY BIG SINK that they always have in baby change rooms- now I know why- and turned on the waterworks. We rinsed through the equivalent of the Wivenhoe Dam until the water coming through was almost clear*. And then we went home.
Eventually that baby capsule got clean.
Eventually that baby got clean.
And eventually that baby grew up, stopped crying quite so much, learned to walk, talk and operate an iPad, got addicted to Sylvanians, started fights with her brother, got transfusions, left fairy costumes strewn around the house, ate Ben and Jerry’s and carrots as often as she could, made cubbies out of towels and blankets, wiped boogers on her clothes, learned to swim, read The Wishing Chair and sang herself to sleep most nights.
I like her style. From some of the stuff I’ve seen and heard today, the world could use a bit more Joy and a bit more I Love You. And maybe a few less shit-splosions.
*This is a craftily inserted lie so you’ll think I’m a good Mum