Part of being a mother is the sudden realisation that you can never again be squeamish. Having a baby opens you up to a whole world of bodily processes that your adorable newborn bundle has no control over. The contents of baby's stomach, whether from attic or basement will, at various inopportune moments, be expelled at high velocity. It is our job to be on hand with babywipes to mop up either end, thus keeping our precious little one sweet smelling...unfortunately this does not extend to us mums who end up with possett on our shoulders and luminous yellow nappy overflows on our laps. The amount of times I've found myself in public toilets stood under the hand drier trying desperately to dry off my attempts at washing off the latest offering.
As baby gets older, the expulsions of bodily waste have an altogether different set of problems. Baby suddenly takes an interest in the contents of their nappy. Nappy changes become fraught with a new danger...the grab! So whilst picking up a squirmy baby by the feet, diligently cleaning the cracks and crevices, working quickly and under pressure in case of any further expulsions, we also have to be on guard for the slight of hand movement whereby baby grabs the soiled nappy and flings it across the room. Worse still, the more dextrous baby with a firmer stool can go the whole hog and grab the nappy contents itself. It takes a moment to register the fact that sweet gurgling baby is in fact moments away from teething on their own poop! It's a horror moment in deed!
Toddlers take this scatology to a level that would rival a German Scheisser Movie. We've all experienced the stomach churning moment where we realise that what we are seeing is not brown crayon, chocolate or clay. Our little one has got creative with their bodily waste. With the enthusiasm of an H-Block smear campaign, the nursery walls, toys, cot bars and indeed baby himself, become coated in thick brown excrement. For us the phenomenon manifested itself when my angelic little girl decided to decorate her sit 'n' ride toy. The assault on the senses was a slow burn fuelled by disbelief. As the reality of the situation dawned on me, all I could do was gag and do the one thing that needed to be done...shout for my husband!
Don't think that it stops with competent toilet training either. During the launch of the Playstation One, one of our offspring actually peed themselves because they refused to tear themselves away for a toilet break. Then in another unrelated incident crapped his pants because he was playing outside with his mates and thought it would be embarrassing to tell them he had to go home to go the toilet! Oh the logic!
So, don't ever get complacent. As a mother you sign up to be a gusset scrubber forever more!