When I started this blog, I told myself that I wouldn't include any toilet stories because it just seemed a bit unnecessary, but then today happened ... I took W for his third lot of injections and of course he was soooo brave when the nurse jabbed him as she remarked how his lovely chubby thighs would make it easier on him (I wonder where he gets those from?). He hardly cried at all, in fact it was more like an angry shout than an actual cry with real tears like you get when he has to wait 5 minutes for his milk.
As directed, we waited 10 minutes in the surgery to make sure he didn't have a reaction to the shots and then we headed off to The Cosy Club so I could feed him before tackling the 30 minute walk home. We walked via the meadows to say hi to the ducks and laugh at the swan scaring the pigeons off his patch and stopped to call W's dad to let him know what a brave boy he was (that's W, not his dad). I should have realised something was up, because W had gone from being a total chatterbox to a look of complete serenity. It turns out that while his dad was dodging falling masonry, the s**t was really hitting the fan our end!
When we got ourselves settled in the cafe and I unclipped the harness in his pushchair, I noticed with horror that where his t-shirt had ridden up over his little (?!) tummy, his white vest was brown ... from the top of his nappy to his arm pits - front, back and sides. I managed to get him out of his seat and into the baby changing toilet without further mishap, but once I'd got him there, I hadn't a clue where to start. I decided I'd work from the feet up - it took a while, half a packet of baby wipes and some baby yoga positions, but we got there, chatting and laughing all the way. Finally, he's clean and dry and I'm just reaching for his new nappy, when ... yes ... right now, of course ... time for a wee. And what a long one it was. The nappy changing thingy, so well-designed from a safety perspective, now seemed to fill like a basin. I've decided that there is really very little to be done when the hose is going off, certainly if you want to keep the sense of panic to a minimum and avoid scaring the baby. I'm only a little worried that if I keep smiling at him while he's doing it, he'll take it as a sign of approval and start doing it for laughs.
Anyway, nearly half an hour we were in that diabled loo. The Cosy Club staff were getting worried about us we were gone that long. When we eventually did emerge, I'd had to dress W in the only spare clothes I had in the changing bag, which happened to be a 0-3 months babygrow (he now weighs 18lbs). Luckily I had some embroidery scissors in my bag, so I cut the feet out and left the poppers between his chubby thighs undone. Oh what a sight! Thank goodness W didn't see anyone in there he knew!
W downed his milk in one and the lovely bar staff brought me a fresh coffee - thank you thank you thank you - if this happens to me again, could you please make it wine?
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