Poonami

It is currently 10.02pm on Sunday night. It is only now, a full 12 hours later, that I can bring myself to recount the horrific events of this morning.

It started as many Sunday mornings do since we had the little one. Woken at 3.30am nappy change, bottle, blah blah blah.

Somehow I’d managed to get the monster back to bed for a few hours extra kip and was finally awoken at a rather leisurely 9.30am by the sound of the dummy hitting the floor followed by cute gurgerly/screaming noises coming from her room. Time to get up.

Now in hindsight I should have approached the cot with slightly more caution. It did dawn on me just before I went to bed that I hadn’t changed any dirty nappies that day. I dismissed these worries with a casual “oh well, lucky me!”

This was a foolish foolish mistake.

On getting nearer the cot, I detected the faint whiff of crap. “Nothing to worry about”, I told myself. I’ve changed a thousand nappies and up to this point each one had gone pretty smoothly. I approached this one with the same confidence of a man who had yet to experience the true horror of what was about to happen.

I first noticed that all was not well when upon unbuttoning the baby grow there was some definite seepage. Perhaps seepage is the wrong word… more of a brown rim.

Now at this point you would have thought that the sensible thing to do would be to stop, restick the nappy and locate the baby wipes.

I did not do this.

A decision that I will regret FOREVER!

No, instead I ploughed on regardless. Don’t ask me why. All I can think is that the pure unfiltered stench of shit that was invading my nasal cavities had somehow impaired my ability to think clearly. I was now lost in a sticky brown fog of crap with a slight aroma of asparagus smelling piss for good measure.

I should point out that my little bundle of joy had also decided that today was going to be the day when lying cutely on the changing mat was not an option. Instead she had taken to wriggling uncontrollably and somehow arched her back to such an extent that there was a very real possibility of her hair becoming stuck to the trail of shit that had enveloped her back.

In the ensuing battle she managed to create a skid mark the entire length of the changing mat that obviously needed to be stepped in. This, she duly obliged.

So, I now have shit overflowing from the nappy, smeared up her back and over the changing mat and now it’s all over her feet, I still don’t have any bloody wet wipes!

It is at this point that I spot them on the counter. I move with the kind of speed Usain Bolt would have been proud of and manage to make it back to the changing mat before the little sod had the chance to roll off.

At last the tables are turning. I have the upper hand. I have the power of the wet wipe!

It took no fewer than 16 wet wipes dear reader, 16! It seemed never ending! As soon as one part of her arse was clean then she’d roll in another bit. She had become a revolving shit machine with arms.

It’s worth mentioning that we have our changing mat on our fluffy shag pile rug. It’s been like this ever since the day she rolled off the kitchen counter when I had my back turned. Again in hindsight a shag pile rug was a foolish place to have it. Remarkably though Not a single fleck of shit has made it onto that rug. A record, I am proud of to this day.

After a good 5 minutes of her rolling around squirming, screaming, trying to put her hands in it and me trying not to vomit into the shagpile, I finally managed to get her clean. New nappy on followed by the baby grow.

It is at this point that I realised the fallout from the nappy had not been contained. There had indeed been seepage.

Baby grow off.

This particular baby grow was the type that buttons from the back, thus making life that little bit more difficult. It had only been on about two hours as it was (She had decided to wipe up milk with her elbows during breakfast). Anyway a replacement for the replacement was needed.

After what seemed like hours, I changed the baby grow and  she was finally clean and shit free!

At this point I notice her gazing lovingly into my eyes the way only a daughter can.

However, my feelings of love for her changed when her gaze changed from “I love you daddy” to “I haven’t finished with you yet arsehole!”

“What more could she possibly have in mind?” I pondered desperately. 

Before I had time to contemplate this further She managed to spit her dummy into a high looping arch, from the changing mat, over the shag pile before it landed… Yes,you guessed it…. into the now steaming heap of shit that was her nappy.

  

                              

                                       The unfortunate dummy

I love you too darling.