23
Feb
2010
Tales from the Poo Front
Stomach flu is impressive isn’t it? As if the achy pains and general sense of misery provided by your regular flu weren’t enough, adding nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea and then combining it with a constant state of hunger and thirst which can’t be satiated lest you want to spend another four hours retching into the toilet, is really a genius illness, in terms of maximising misery in a short period of time.
I’ve just had four days of caring for Monkey* with stomach flu, with me struck down with the same and shuffling between the bed, the toilet and caring for the little patient on day 4. I now listen to the dulcet tones of The Spaniard retching in to the toilet. Correct, child had only just recovered from bronchitis. Then he returned to daycare. Hence we have new illness after three days back.
However, on the upside, I feel like I have passed through a parent’s rite of passage. It is not with a small tinge of pride that I feel I can finally join in on the whole poo parents club, what with its infinite sharing of poo stories and sense of belonging and camaraderie. I’ve spent four days changing outfits and bedding with great frequency due not just to vomit but some spectacular poo incidents. I’ve earned some stripes. A few months ago dedicated reader and friend, Stephen, told me a poo story. It was a very good one — child had filled his daks and then used vehicular assistance — his bike — to spread poo to all corners of the house with utmost efficiency. I enjoyed the story but it left me feeling a bit…out. Like a draft dodger hearing the tales of war from the poo front. I had nothing of my own to come back with. It was awkward. Well, that has changed in the last 48 hours.
Yesterday we had no less than three baths and six changes of clothing. That’s if you don’t count mine. I had to completely change my own clothing at least three times. I would have showered if I had time but I was too busy with the wailing vomiter. So instead I swept hair up to a crusty ponytail. I pretty much couldn’t put him down, unless I wanted to hear some VERY loud crying (he has quite a voice on him, baritone, Kate says) which was awkward at times, especially when, feeling confident after two hours of isotonic drink without vomiting we tried some milk. Slowly, slowly catchie monkey he drank the milk. Calm and satisfaction followed. Then the flood was released. I tried to catch as much volume in my lap as I could to save the couch. It was relatively successful as I managed to shuffle crab like, sideways away from the crouch, with Monkey still in my arms, keeping the vomit in my lap and eventually dispersing it across the living room floor. The floor is not carpet so I think it was a good result.
Poo stories: let me just regale you with some of the highlights, now that I’m in the gang.(Why, this in-group smugness feels GOOD). One particular poo was heard before it was seen, and, assessing the bulginess of the nappy I decided it could be addressed with calm at some later time. When that time came I picked up Monkey only to feel a wet patch on my arm. This poo had exploded up his back, and, as I was to later discover, left his nappy virtually spotless, such was its precise trajectory. It took out all key targets on its flight, requiring trousers, bodysuit and jumper to be changed. I don’t want to know how unsuccessful I was on each occasion that the bodysuits were covered in feces in avoiding getting it all over monkey’s head and face as it passed up and over.
For some reason the left front side of the nappy seems to be particularly prone to blow outs. There were a few fairly pedestrian occurrences of this but the real highlight was this morning. I heard several indicators that I was in for a treat and decided I should wait until this particular poo extravaganza was thoroughly completed. That was a mistake. So much crap escaped out the right side of the nappy it actually filled Monkey’s right trouser leg. The bottom of the trouser leg is, fortunately, elasticised. The result was like a trouser shit sausage. Quite the outcome, I think you’ll agree.
I think I’ll end there. Best keep some under my hat for the next opportunity to banter with some parents about poo. Feel free to join the in-group and leave some poo stories of your own in the comments. If you’re not there yet, don’t worry, your time will come.
*Monkey is the baby previously known as N but I felt a bit naff referring to him as N so he shall be henceforth referred to as the cute little jungle animal and sometime Buddhist super hero, Monkey, which may well be equally naff but I’m going with it.
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Which is why, my gorgeous friend, I feel
my blood run cold with fear when someone on the other side of the country tells me their children have gastro. I begin calculating how, six degrees of separation can contaminate my children and ANY nighttime waking from one of the three children can instill the fear of god in me. Ahh Childcare and disease!!!
My daughter did a projectile poo all over the doctors white coat in the emergency room. The was one of the funniest days of my life!
You poor thing (but very funny in hindsight). The poo in the bath and the nude untoilet trained toddler doing poo on the carpeted floor that you actually dont see until you walk in it in bare feet are also crackups you can look forward to…..however, if it is someone elses kid that does these things to you it is never funny.
A friend of mine was talking to a tradesman at length about paint samples in her home. They discussed the need for matt paint and wandered around their kitchen looking at cupboard fronts for a good half an hour. It was only after her left and she went to the bathroom that she realised she had a big poo smear down her face.
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