It’s all about poo these days.
Pickle has just stopped breastfeeding and is learning to digest formula milk, along with all the other stuff she eats in a day (weetabix, pasta, newspaper, leaves, crumpets, my hair, cat food). This, combined with teething, has had explosive results. She’s gone from a once-a-day gal to a twice-in-the-space-of-lunch-in-a-nice-cafe sort.
Nappies are one thing, but this potty training malarkey is somewhat trying.
Ziggler is doing very well. The carpet may stink of piss, but at least it is stale piss – she hasn’t had an accident for a good three weeks. Not sure what to do about the poos. She variously demands a nappy to poo in, declares she needs a poo and then changes her mind, or just passes a motion in her knickers (not the legislative kind, although frankly she’s bossy enough).
I’m finding following the accepted advice not to seem disgusted or with any accidents a bit tricky. It’s poo! You try scraping stinking faeces off an open-weave rug with a placid expression and nary a sigh, NHS Birth to Five book! My well-rehearsed ‘oh well, next time try to get it in the loo’ is getting a bit strained. She doesn’t seem especially bothered. Hope I’m not committing a childhood trauma as we speak.
The other week at a playgroup with a friend, Ziggler did a poo in her knickers just as we arrived. I breezily cleaned her up in the bathroom. Immediately as I surfaced, Pickle shat noisily so I carted her off for a nappy change. I emerged to Ziggler saying ‘look! Poo on my knee, mummy!’ Seems she hadn’t finished as, indeed, when I looked there was poo smeared on her knee. And on the playtunnel she’d just crawled through, the steps leading up to it and the carpet at the bottom of the steps. Off we went, again, to the bathroom. Just as I was throwing the last babywipe away my friend appeared with Pickle at the door. I must have looked as red-faced, sweaty and poo-drenched as I felt as it was with some trepidation she said, ‘er… I think she’s pooed again…’.
I think we were at that playgroup for an hour, and I spent 55 minutes of it in the bleedin’ toilet.
Anyway, enough. I see, smell and clean up enough poo in the day. I’m not typing it any more.