***Warning: Graphic poo related content!!***
I would like to think that prior to becoming a mother I was a person with a varying range interests. I could hold a conversation with ease (as long as it wasn’t about politics or finance – YAWN). And I tried to maintain an active obsession with at least one hobby at any time – cardio hip hop, dieting, baking cupcakes, writing poems…
After I became a mother, I naturally became somewhat cut off from my previously “normal” life and outside interests. But I swore I wouldn’t become one of those mothers who talk only about their baby. I didn’t. Instead, I became one of those mothers who talk only about their baby’s poo.
It’s true, my new obsession is poo. The colour, texture, content, volume; it is all a complete and utter fascination to me. And being a person with no brain-to-mouth filter, if I’m thinking about poo… I’m talking about poo.
I was amazed with the initial newborn nappies, which I happily described to anyone who would listen. For the first really grown up poo, I excitedly summoned my hubby to the nursery at six in the morning so he could sleepily admire this work of art. Swiftly followed by a text to my mother exclaiming “Have you heard about the turd? Turd turd turd, the turd is the word!!!”
I set myself the challenge of identifying what meal had made it’s way through the little man’s digestive system and into his nappy. I stood fascinated at 3am, holding a wet wipe in my hand to catch an impromptu mid nappy change poo. And I’d eagerly recount full report of poo production to hubby on his return from “the real world” every evening.
Speaking of which, after a very quick eleven months, I was back to work. I regularly had to remind myself that not everyone (i.e. no one) wanted to hear about my baby’s poo. Unless I was talking to a fellow new mother, when I’d casually slip a little poo related anecdote into our baby conversations.
I have to wonder whether my obsession with poo led to me allow the little man to run around naked after his bath – despite his inclination to poo while nappiless – not once, not twice but three times. The first time, he had the good sense to get off the carpet and onto the glossy painted steps to our balcony. The second time, he crawled in from the hall, grinning inanely with what I thought was food smeared on his upper lip. It was not food. He had in fact poo painted the hall floor, hall rug, Sit’n’Step playstation and half his body.
Any sane person would think “Simples, don’t let your baby run around naked any more”. I appear to be lacking in sanity as I did it again, my logic being that he’d done it twice so why would he do it again? On reflection, a weak argument. So the turd (boom boom!) time it happened I had to concede that I was (subconsciously?) asking for it really. At least he had the decency to wriggle off my lap before heading to the middle of our cream carpeted sitting room and marking his territory.
However, cleaning up after this was a walk in the park compared to dealing with the carnage of the Atomic Bath Poo. I don’t know how it happens, but on contact with bath water, even the most solid of turds seems to just dissipate in an unnatural fashion. Within seconds, your baby is sitting in what looks like a tub full of stagnant pond water. But even then, as I’m hauling him out of the bath while making minimal contact with his stinky body, I’m thinking to myself what a story this is to share with anyone who will listen!
Having been back in work a few months now, I’m starting to regain my ability to have poo free conversations. I fight the urge to scan every word looking for a logical opening to link in the latest update on the little man’s bowel movements. I know that the eventual potty training stage will provide much new material and I am very likely to succumb once more to poo driven chatter. So friends and family be warned and be prepared for that feeling of ‘Deja Poo’.