Shit

Fatherhood is amazing. All of the firsts you get to experience with your child as they grow up. Their first smile. Their first attempt at a crawl. Their first word. Their first tiny wobbly steps. All of that is amazing. But, and this is a big but that no-one really prepares you for, there is also shit. Lots and lots of shit. Piss too but that generally gets all absorbed by the nappy. So shit is the main thing. And dealing with shit itself can be very different. Let me share some of my experiences.

The Classic Nightmare Nappy Change

Picture the scene. Your child has had a shit. If they are old enough they will inform you of their deed so as to prepare you for the next fun few minutes. And normally this is all straightforward; child lies down, nappy off, wipe, wipe, wipe, nappy bag and launch into outside bin. A simple nappy change is similar to a ten second pit stop in an F1 race. Sure, there may be some tiny differences in technology, your baby is generally not designed to go 200 mph and an F1 car does not tend to shit itself randomly but the fundamentals are the same. Get the fucking thing changed as quickly as fucking possible and get the fuck out of there.

However, when nappy changes go wrong, and they will no matter how perfect a parent you think you are, it will be earth and arse shattering. Recently, I had one of these with my youngest son. He told me he had had a poo so inside the house we went. I took the changing mat out and got a few wipes and a nappy bag already opened ready for the faeces grenade to be deposited in (it pays to plan ahead for soiled nappies, trust me). I start opening the nappy carefully like a game of Pass The Parcel where no-one is a winner. To my immediate horror what can only be described as a cow pat rolled out of the nappy and across the living room carpet like an escaped smelly hula hoop, leaving a shit smear in its wake, a big skid mark which made it look like dung beetles had been doing shitty doughnuts around the room.

I watched it go and thought ‘I’ll get it later’ because I look down at my son, his legs up in the air, and I spot the remaining, static shit is trailed right up his spine. I end up with shit on my hands as I’m trying to clear behind him, his feet nearly by his ears as I try and follow the yellow shit road (‘We’re not in Kansas anymore Toto’). I’m sweating as I wonder if the trail of shit will ever actually end and wipe my brow, leaving shit on my forehead like war paint.

In the meantime, I look over to the rolling shit just as it bounces off a wall with a wet slap and spins a couple of times before coming to rest, its adventure finally coming to an end. The dog walks in, perhaps sensing the high emotional state of the whole situation, looks at the cow pat and without a moment of hesitation begins eating the fucking thing vociferously. For a second I thought ‘that is disgusting’ before having the further thought of ‘well at least I don’t have to clear that up later.’ The dog is like a Disgusting Dyson, one you will never see an advert for.

I look down at my son and realise he is trying to roll away, his attention span well and truly gone. I nail him down like Jesus to the cross and quickly attach a fresh nappy before shouting ‘Go, go, go’ at him like Murray Walker in his pomp. All that is now left for me to do is bleach my hands and my forehead.

Bath Time Fun Time

Ah bath time. A lovely family time where the kids get to splash around a bit and get clean. It can go wrong very quickly though if you have a young child who doesn’t have complete command of their bowels, especially in a nice, warm, comfortable bath. If you are lucky you will more or less get away with it and a solid shit will appear like a U-boat ascending from down below. Sure, you will have to extract the kids from the bath and shower them down while trying to clean the bath. But this is better than the alternative which is a, well, less solid poo. It will resemble more of an excremental oil slick as it spreads around the bath, destroying nature as it goes. The kids will need extracting again and the bath will need a deep clean.

That is not to say occasionally you don’t get lucky. Recently my youngest son had taken his nappy off and was about to get in the bath when the urge came and he started defecating as he held on to the sink, slightly bent over. Panic briefly set in as I wondered what I was going to collect the extract in but then my eye caught a Thomas the Tank Engine bucket just above the sink. Perfect. As my son strained and I held everyone’s favourite Really Useful Engine underneath I thought ‘this is like the weirdest fucking scrum ever.’ I resisted the urge to shout ‘Touch. Pause. Engage’ as this may have led to confusion.

Public Poo

You’re out in the big wide world, enjoying yourself with the family when disaster strikes. Despite asking 17 times whether anyone needed the toilet just ten minutes ago before leaving the house, the current situation is that one of the kids needs the toilet immediately and definitely cannot hold it for long.

So depending on where you are there are a few choices. If you are out in the middle of nowhere with plenty of trees and bushes it’s generally all very straightforward as long as you have wipes with you. If you are in a city centre or mall or something you want to look for those big brand fast food chains. Any local cafes or pubs are more likely to have those narky signs telling you the toilets are for customers only.

Sometimes you have those one-off situations like I had with my eldest son when he was nearly four. We had driven to a railway station in Manchester late at night to pick up mummy from a trip down to That London. Her train was delayed by a few minutes as we waited on the concourse. I was holding him up so he could look down the platform to check the train before it came in. About three minutes before the train was due to arrive my son’s face changed. I asked him if he was okay, whether he was just excited to see mummy. He said yes but continued to look worried. Two minutes before the train was due to arrive I asked him again if he felt okay and this time he shook his head. The smell emanating up indicated that something had gone very, very wrong. Either the drains in Manchester had very suddenly blocked up or…

I sprinted towards the toilets with my son. I realised about ten metres from the toilet that this was one of those stupid fucking stations where you have to pay to spend a penny (20 pennies, to be precise). I thought ‘well I don’t have any change’ and accelerated as I prepared to vault over the toilet turnstile like an Olympian when I spotted a worker standing by the entrance. He must have just seen the looks of sheer terror on both of our faces as he wordlessly opened the gate for us to pass through. I was that distraught I’m not sure what came out of my mouth was ‘thank you’ but may have sounded more like ‘ganache kibbutz accrue’ but if you’re reading this somewhere I would like to say a genuine thank you.

I got into the cubicle and cleaned my son as much as I could with the limited resources on hand. Obviously the underwear was unsalvageable but he didn’t mind and my olfactory system certainly held no objections.

We both put a brave face on and agreed to walk to mummy with a big ‘I thought you were coming in on another platform’ face on.

Jerry’s Final Thought

One thing that I did find amusing is that when my eldest started cleaning up after himself his first comment was ‘But that’s disgusting’ as if he expected his parents to just wipe his arse for the whole of his life.

So yes, fatherhood is amazing. But it will also be a good day when I’m back to just looking after my own arsehole. Arseholo Solo if you like. May the force be with you.