The Truth About POO

When I was about 6, I accidentally shat on a German tourist. We were swimming in a watering hole in the middle of outback Australia and there wasn’t a toilet for miles. I did have the good sense to forewarn my twin brother that a jobbie was forthcoming so after the deed was done, we got out of the water. As the turd made its merry way down stream and we followed eagerly to see where it would end up. As it turns out, downstream from the watering hole there was a small waterfall where people would sit under. So yeah, the shit bobbed over the edge and landed on a German tourist.

 

The significance of this story has become apparent since having a baby. I feel as though the universe is now getting me back for such a shameful act by pushing me to my poo limits. There are many fantastic websites that tell you what colour your babies’ poo should be or how often they should be going but none that truly detail the horror of a poo explosion.

 

Poo can explode. Did you know that? It can explode with the same gusto as when you put a mentos into a coke bottle then quickly screw the lid back on. Ka-boom. When you go to your antennal classes they may cover poo briefly. They will tell you to wipe front to back for little girls and put a nappy over little boys so you don’t end up with wee on you but they don’t tell you how to deal with a poo explosion. So here it is… If you can’t hand the baby to your significant other/mother/completely stranger/worst enemy and run away, then you’d better run a bath.

 

A couple of days a go I popped into the shops to buy supplies while I left my mum in the car with my daughter. As I emerged and approached the car I could see through the window a look of horror on my mums face. When I opened the door I could see why. There was shit everywhere. The baby looked like she was coated with crunchy peanut butter that smelt like sewage. It was up her back, in her hair, all over her face and not a square inch of her onesie was the original pink colour it used to be. My mum was also coated. It was up her arms, on her dress and she must have wiped her brow in disbelieve as there was a bit on her forehead (I failed to share this delightful observation with her till much later because it was way to funny).

 

Since a bath wasn’t possible it took a whole packet of baby wipes to return the crime scene back to normal, although in the sun, the car still smells of shit. Most of what the poo explosion touched was salvageable but the onesie was beyond help and it went in the bin with the nappy and ten thousand wipes. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in my life at my poor mum covered in shit. The universe saw this… When I got back to my house from visiting her, I heard my daughter begin to grunt. Nothing out of the ordinary. But when I heard her shart, that’s when the poo explosion scenario crossed my mind. I tentitivley approached her and the smell filled my nostrils first. Not a good sign. As I knelt down to her rocker I was greeted with the below sight. I’ll say it now, just in case the universe doesn’t think I’ve learnt my lesson. Sorry mum.

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