“My son pooed paper”
The above comment, which I said to my wife the other day, wouldn’t be enough to comprise an entire blog post. However, I found the fact my son had done this meant I HAD to find a way to get it into a blog, somehow. After all, I’m really just a 5 year old at heart, and talking about poo and wee is funny. It is.
The first nappy I ever changed was on the day after he was born. Claire kindly let me do it – by ‘kindly’ I mean ‘Told me to’ and after two and a half days of Labour, and letting me have a go on the gas and air machine, I think she deserved a little something back.
Changing the nappy wasn’t too hard – I remember doing it to my now 16 year old (and probably embarrassed by this statement) Brother. The real shock came with the consistency of the poo itself.
Take some plasticine (or Play-Doh) and run it through one of those toys where you push it through a machine and it come out in a long strip. Like this one:
Now here comes the technical bit – with one hand, slowly continue pushing the play doh out of the machine. With the other hand, keep pulling the play doh away as it comes out. Done? good. Now replace play doh machine with my son, and the visual is complete. It would not stop – a slow, purposeful poo of doughlike proportions, creeping its way into the living world with only me and a handful of wetwipes to deal with. It was quite the father son bonding moment, and I felt as if Ned had left this one especially for me. I was honoured, to an extent.
Since then I’ve seen it come out all shades of brown – from Ikea flat pack wood, to the darkest of tree bark. Speaking of trees, I’ve had it appear in leaf and neon greens. I’ve seen it appear so watery it flies out the sides of the nappy, and so dry it’s almost powder. There are literally hundreds of exciting combinations to choose from. I’m joking, they’re all disgusting.
Ned went through a phase for a couple of months where every morning, he’d fire one out with such force that it would blast out the top of his nappy and through his onesie. You’d never know he’d done it until you took him out the cot. Only then would you see the soaked through brown stain of disappointment. Not something you want to deal with at 5am.
He’s pooed through my fingers (while being held with my hand cupping his butt) and pooed on his walker (mid walk, no less) – at one particularly spectacular point, he managed to cover a distance of 3 feet with what we infamously call ‘The Shotgun Poo’
Nowadays, he’s eating/barely eating/sort of chewing and spitting out solid food, so there are the occasional lumps (or piece of paper), but nothing substantial. I look at this boy sometimes while changing his nappy and remind myself that some day, he’ll be an adult, and some day, he may have children of his own, and yes, even someday, he’ll be a sweaty, panicky mess while trying to hold two kicking feet and wipe at the same time.
And it’s at these moments of reflection, that I laugh my ass off.
Kid, you have no clue what life is going to throw your way.