I am not a huge fan of poo. I accept bodily functions, am grateful even for the process of elimination which can make several scoffed chocolate bars history, but for the most part it's something i prefer not to dwell on. Well, that was until i had babies anyway. Two boy babies. Having been raised in a family of four girls, i don't have too many memories of the brown stuff - though i'm sure it was there....lurking in the periphery of remembered dolls, tea parties, fairies (haha). The point is, this boy thing - and an obssession with all things 'gross' is rather new to me (I'm referring to not just Egg here, but Jay as well. Even after 18 years together he can still make me wince/groan with disgust on command. A fact i'm not proud of - but he clearly is).
For the same reason that i think "His and Hers" bathrooms to be one of the best conventions of the modern, post-war age, (and something i continually hanker for), so am i a firm believer that Jay should put his money where his mouth is and deal with the rather nastier elements of expulsion when he is here at home. I do runny noses and disgusting clogged up drains so i think it only fair.
When an opportunity to acquaint oneself with the brown stuff arises, the dilemma of who should step forward is often resolved by a best two out of three of 'paper scissors stones' - a game in which we both count to three and throw our hands into the shape of one of the aforementioned implements. Paper beats stone, stone beats scissors, and scissors beat paper. And Nissy beats Jay. This is just the way it is and due to my sharply-honed instincts and the fact that i am on the whole 'luckier' than Jay in games of chance. (This is a true and well-known fact - ask anybody).
Yesterday the dilemma was solved for us by the appearance of our eldest - just as we were about to have tea and cakes with the aunties in the kitchen - slowly trudging down the steps toward us, hands out-stretched, naked from the waist down and proudly proferring a nappy laden with poo. He has obviously surpassed the stage of telling us when he needs his nappy changed and is just getting on with the job himself. If it weren't for the fact that he had smeared his various body parts with the contents on his way down the treacherous stairs, we may have been onto something here. But the state of the potential disaster here, and the groans of horror from the delicate aunties were enough to propel my husband into action on this occasion and he wasted no time in jumping up and transporting the whole stinking mess of toddler and soiled nappy back upstairs and didn't emerge for some time. When he eventually did, he had noticeably cooled on his brownie...and the pecan pie come to think of it. Though we did notice that he fortified his cup of tea with a hefty splash of whiskey. Fair enough