“Oh no Sarah, it’s going EVERYWHERE!”
The look on my mum’s face as she stared at Miss 0’s back confirmed what that warm feeling had been just moments before. Mum hurriedly grabbed me a towel while I finished the feed, and when I was finally able to hand her to mum and check my clothes there was no evidence of the poo explosion. Cue happy dance. It was, after all, my third poo encounter of the day, none of which had been contained by nappies.
The day had started reasonably well. I had managed to do some washing and was even hanging it out before we had to head out that morning. I could hear a door opening and closing, inside which is a bit nerve wracking when your three year old is toilet training, but I was determined to get the washing done. Next thing I know, Master 3 has walked out the door with no undies on.
“Do you need to go to the toilet?”
“No, I just did wees!”
Off I ran inside to assess the damage. Luckily, he had made it to the potty and he had even poured it into the toilet. Well, poured half of it in. But points for trying, right? The smile on my face stayed until I headed back outside and noticed brown streaks running down his legs. Yep, poo number one. When I asked him where the rest of it was, he proudly pointed to a mound of sand that he had used to cover up the evidence. Which was really nice of him, especially because it meant I didn’t realize Master 2 had stepped in it until I was putting them in the car. Poo number two.
Back to poo number three. So here I was, having potentially averted a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions, and I had ten minutes to get Miss 0 bathed and changed and all the kids in the car to head to swimming lessons. I was just buttoning up her coverall when Master 3 came out of mum’s room saying something about taps and water.
Thankfully, the inch of water in the ensuite hadn’t quite made it to the carpeted wardrobe.
A hurried mop and we were ready to head out the door. I was rushing around grabbing children and bags, and it was at that moment that I realized that my waistband felt wet. Half a second later I realized why.
“I have poo on my waistband!” I announced in horror.
“Oh don’t worry,” said my mum calmly, “Your shirt will cover it, no-one will notice.”
“But I will know!” Unfortunately there was no time to head home to change, so a fervent rub with a baby wipe and we were in the car on our way. I was desperately trying to ignore the fact that I was going out in public wearing baby poo.
It’s at this point I started to think that my day just couldn’t get any worse. But of course it could, and it did.
We managed to get the boys ready for their swimming lesson on time and they even had time to sit on the step to splash a bit while they waited for their teachers. They have a tendency to want to start their lessons early, so I have to stand behind them and make sure they stay put. But on this day, obviously not paying attention to the warning the cosmos had been giving me, I let them sit one step further down than normal. Which meant that when they tried to jump all the way in I couldn’t quite grab them in time. Master 3 thought it was great and headed halfway up the pool. Master 2 decided to see if he could breathe underwater. Which meant I had to walk in to grab him. In jeans.
Having saved my youngest son from drowning I was left holding his arm while he tried to have another go, wet to my knees while I yelled for Master 3 to get out of the pool. Turns out it was quite the spectacle because EVERYONE was looking, which of course meant Master 3 stubbornly refused to move and had to be dragged from the pool by his teacher. If I wasn’t so mortified I would have bowed to signal the end of the show. The worst part was that the water didn’t make it high enough to wash the poo out.
Thankfully, things settled down after that and everything returned to some semblance of normal. That was until I was feeding Miss 0 that afternoon and my mum found Master 3 with his bum in the air filling his undies. Poo number four. Ten minutes after I finally had him clean and in new clothes my husband walked in from work.
“How was your day, honey?”
I think it’s safe to say that he regretted that question. Especially when I told him my duties were done for the day. And probably the entire weekend as well.
And just for the record, I so rock jeans covered in chlorine and poo.