Time spent at home with Boris, Noris and Doris is usually a fairly entertaining experience. Today however, I am trapped here as two of my three delightful little offspring have tummy bugs and are puking and pooing their way through a malodorous day of dung-digging, poo-portering, crap-carrying and any other alliteration you care to add. All plans to take them for a day out in the spring sunshine have been cancelled in favour of tummy cramps and sprints to the toilet - some of which we make on time.
I am also learning that there must be some hidden art to washing puke out of babies’ hair, without missing great chunks behind the ears - which I clearly haven't mastered yet. The other skill I need to acquire is the observational power to notice such infant hygiene blunders and not leave them for immediate discovery by said child's (stressed) mother upon her return from work.
My father-in-law is a farmer - and as such is well acquainted with dung of various species, types, textures and odours. He collects it, he spreads it, he drives tractors through it and has even been known to wear it. All this without murmur or complaint! The thought of changing a human nappy though, fills him with complete horror and disgust - to the point that he never has done one, despite rearing a large herd of humans himself. I think I'm beginning to see where he's coming from......
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