In the first weeks of the Little One's life I laughed along with the other NCT mums on our What’sApp group about middle of the day baths, poo up to the shoulder blades, multiple changes of clothes etc (amazing how much there is to say on the topic). But these events just didn’t happen in our house. Nappy changes were civil and contents well contained. I felt very secure (and maybe a little smug) that I did not have a pooey baby.
Until the Little One hit 7 weeks old. To paint the scene, it was a beautiful sunny May day. My husband had just returned to work. The Little One and I were sat in the garden. She was having a feed; I was reading a book and pondering my luck at being on maternity leave in such stunning weather. The birds were chirping in the trees and there was a nice cooling breeze. A pause in feeding preceded the sound of three large explosions. Feeding resumed. As I sat the Little One up for a burp I learned a lesson: three pumps is the tipping point for any nappy. My first level four poo had occurred*. And so we both had our first middle of the day bath.
Now, pre-Little One, I would have been fairly grossed out by these events. But something weird happens when there’s a baby around: poo becomes a source of great humour and is in fact one of my favourite topics of conversation (hence this post). So I took a photo and sent it to my husband. Note to self - when he’s at work poo is not so funny.
As I dressed the Little One in my current favourite outfit this morning to meet some work colleagues for a coffee, my poo monitoring system was warning that a poo was well overdue. It’s been four days. I was also aware that she has now outgrown what was fondly termed her ‘poo dress’ and that another lucky garment needed to acquire the dubious honour. As the inevitable happened and I sponged off my jeans, changed a nappy, wet-wiped an entire windmilling baby, stopped her from chewing the full nappy bag, and re-dressed her on the floor of a toilet with no baby changer (because clearly these things always happen in the one non-baby-friendly place you venture out to that month), I was reminded of my first level four experience. Not that there haven’t been plenty in the interim – most frequently during car journeys where I can more or less be sure that the motion will assist a motion, if you get my drift, and where the poo is able to seep nicely into all the crevasses of the carseat – but because I still haven’t learned that after a four day interval, I really do need to pack a change of mummy clothes as well as baby clothes. Big sigh. Live and learn. Live and learn.
*Definition: any poo that achieves a passage beyond the baby’s clothes to your own