With everyone busy preparing for Christmas and myself being excited that my sons will be coming home to stay from university. I went into reflection on Christmases past. We all eat too much and also eat things that aren’t necessarily good for us but it’s the little ones that can have an issue. Here is my tale, one that every mother has gone through at some time and every new mother will…
It happened so quickly I had no time to think, only react. Green slimy poo was working it’s way up the poor little fellows back, creating a huge wedgy of disgusting paste. He didn’t look unhappy as I held him at arms length and leapt toward the stairs.
The bathroom, get to the bathroom, was the only thing on my mind. I flew up the stairs like an athlete going over hurdles. Quick, quick, this stuff was getting out of control. It was like the blob in the sixties movie about to encompass Steve McQueen and everyone in its path. I bounced off the bathroom door hitting my noggin in my hurry but my baby was okay. He emitted raptures of giggles at the pained expression that crossed my face. Why is it babies think it’s a hoot when you hurt yourself? There’s nothing like stubbing a toe or pinching a finger in a closing drawer to cause outright hilarity. Are babies really little malicious elves in disguise? Naaaaah! That’s just silly.
I swung the little guy into the bathtub, plonking him onto the soft silvery slivered mat that now became green grass. Shaking my head I looked at my lovely gel foot massaging mat and knew it wouldn’t be the same. Okay, can’t dwell on that, too much to do. Frantically I started stripping him down. Detaching the studs like a male stripper at a hen party. My hand slid to the back of his neck to pull the fabric down and I cringed in disgust as putrid smelling slime slid under my finger nails. Oh! So gross!
Be brave, I told myself, you can get through this and the bright blue eyes watched me as his baby grin grew larger.
“Yes, this is just fun time with mummy isn’t it?” I cooed as I pulled the sleeper off in one magnificent stretch. Which consequently soon after contracted from expanding to its limits throwing sage coloured faeces at the walls, sides of the bathtub but most disconcertingly…my face.
I so wanted to scream but all I could do was let out a maniacal laugh that my sweetie thought was wonderful and decided this was a brilliant time to play with mummy. Little fingers grabbed hold of what was oozing out of the diaper as I was trying to take off and he playfully flung it at me with the attitude, that since I was enjoying it so much, I would really like some more.
“No, no, my precious. That’s not for playing with.” I spluttered through blobs of green trying to imagine that it was wasabi and not something that was the waste product of my sons digestive system.
“We have to get you clean little man and mummy can’t do that if you distract her with really sticky icky stuff.” I hoped my smile was more calm than crazy and that my teeth were not spotted with his colonic discharge but sadly I knew they were.
Both of my hands were deep in his bowel movement as I tried not to think of it.
“Mummy must have fed you something very bad. Naughty mummy, she must try to feed you more bland foods next time.” In what I hoped was a soft meditative tone I continued talking hoping to keep my son quiet, not realizing I was the one needing calming.
At last he was without clothes and I quickly turned the taps on with one hand, the other upon my beloved. My hand was now wavering beneath the water until it was the right temperature.
“Mummy’s going to make it rain. A nice warm rain that will feel sooo good.”
Picking him up I propped him under the shower and pulled the lever.
Screams erupted from him at the shock of having water spattering down from above.
“Oh! Oh! My poor little one. I am so sorry.”
Before I knew it I was in the bathtub with him cuddling and cajoling him not to cry. Water was weaving it’s way through my clothes, my shirt was dripping as were my pants and uncomfortably my socks. Socks get very sloppy when wet but I was okay I was on the mat.
Soon the tears had subsided, mine and his, and I was able to soap him up and get him back to sparkling clean. I myself was no longer caked in yucky stuff but I was now water logged. Though the Flash Dance scene with the chair and bucket of water didn’t come to mind, drowned rat did.
I stepped out onto the bathmat that I had surprisingly in my state of reaction been sensible enough to lay down. However, I wasn’t smart enough to think about my wet socks and once off the mat did the most brilliant banana slip routine that has ever been done. The crash of my behind onto the floor sent tremors through my baby and for a moment he stared wide eyed in shock on my lap gazing into my poor defeated eyes.
The loud bawling that ensued was followed by my own loud sobs as I cradled him whilst wanting to rub my aching bottom that pulsed like Rudolph’s nose on a foggy night.
Brushing my tears aside and gingerly lifting us both off the floor I carefully thought about making my way out to go to his bedroom. It was only a short distance but had the magnitude of walking the Appalachians’. There was the open door of the bathroom, all I had to do was make it across the floor without slipping, once out I would be on carpet and home free to get to his room.
It was an unbelievably long period of time it took those four steps to the carpet, like being in a time stands still environment of quantum physics my foot slowly rose and fell, after which I carefully lifted the opposite foot and let it land as solidly as I could upon the floor. My eyes were focused only on the soft carpet that would soon encompass my drudging damp feet. My child safely ensconced close to my chest, listening to my rhythmical pounding heart as it beat a steady soothing song to relax him. One more stride, only one more stride.
When both feet landed on the carpet I felt like throwing him up and cheering at our Olympic achievement. I didn’t. It’s funny how good sense suddenly comes to a mother when you need it most.
I gently hugged him as I silently walked to his room. His little head slouching onto my arm and his beautiful face carrying a divine angelic expression of spiritual harmony and contentment. I placed him onto the change table looking down at my amazing creation with love and adoring eyes.
When the fountain hit me I came back to life. This was the joy of having a little boy, the surprise drenching in between changes. I swiftly covered him with a diaper until his Manneken Pis, Belgian statue pose was done and cleaned him gently off before putting a new diaper on him.
Once he was snuggled into a sleeper I laid him in his crib and stroked his short silky hair. His face was peaceful as he slept and I felt like a Buddhist being in the moment. My heart swelled with joy and I turned on my sopping feet and made my way to my retreat. Within those walls I undressed, and donned my robe and took myself downstairs. Switching on the kettle I grabbed a box of tea and a cup and waited.
With the delightful odour of freshly brewed tea within my hands I happily sipped and thought. Gosh! No wonder elderly people suggest a nice cup of tea after a traumatic event. It was as close to heaven as I could have got, holding the warm cup in my hands and breathing in its aromatic aroma but best of all I thought as I took one more sip. It wasn’t green tea.