Let’s set the scene… Its 4am in the morning, you’ve got yourself a little routine where your bundle of joy has two night feeds. The first one being around midnight is done and dusted and you’ve been awoken again, whether it be by him stirring or full on thrashing around to get your attention.
You’ve smartly prepared a bottle and popped it into a thermo bag ready for this moment and all is going well. You’ve got the bib and muslin cloth all ready and he’s downing milk like a single woman on the gin. The gas is coming up like it should with a few objective screeches here and there from the man himself. As you’re on autopilot you change him, give him a sway and back into bed he goes but not for long. No sooner have you got all tucked up into bed yourself than an almighty noise comes from the ‘next-to-me’ crib that makes your heart jump. As you see the vomit project a small amount out of the crib and onto your side of the bed you pray to God that your dreaming. But no, you leap out of bed to see a small confused child staring helplessly up at you as you grab whatever you can find to clean him up with. It’s everywhere you don’t want it to be, the cot sheet, the cot, your bed, his face and even starting to drip slowly underneath the cot mattress. You gather the helpless child up in your arms and pass him off to your partner while you get set on tidying up his nest.
Moving on to a few weeks later when your cooing, smiling, gorgeous boy is happily watching Cbeebies in his bouncer and your trying to down a cup of tea while you have five minutes of peace. Suddenly the noise you always dread starts coming from your little one as he stares at you blankly, face as red as a tomato. The strain is the loudest noise he ever makes and the squelch that follows tells you all you need to know. He’s pooing. You wait a few minutes for him to finish the deed and can’t help but laugh at his vacant expression. When you think he has finally filled his nappy you begin the task of cleaning up what you feel is a ridiculous amount of faeces for such a small child. As you unveil the cause of the hideous odour, the little tyke decides he isn’t quite finished and as he strains like never before, an eruption of poo covers your hand, jumper and escapes halfway across the living room scarsely missing the rug. What else can you do but stare in horror at the mess, keep calm, carry on.