Hooray for poopies

You know, I thought I wasn't going to write about my children's bodily functions on this blog. The main reason being that I wanted some readers to come and then stick around.

However, I've now reconsidered and I'm removing this ban because I am all about the bodily functions. I love reading about them, talking about them, and - yes - writing about them.

I have a big fat book all about poop in art. Which I bought myself. Because I think all things poop are interesting. So there you go. Deal with it. Or not.

Glad I made that clear.

Actually - I shall add, for the interested reader, that this post will be about children's bodily functions mainly, and that the funeral mentioned later is only the background story, and in no way the focus. While obviously this funeral was rather important in my life, I would not want to overdo it on the death front in this blog, as I believe most blog readers would be scared off by that topic much more than by poop posts. Just so we're all on the same page.

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So - yesterday, I woke up too late, only to find Marie lying in a pool of vomit which she had apparently produced in the early night (it had all dried up already). What a stinker! Anyways, I grab her and toss her in the bath, wash her thoroughly and then I go in the shower, while Babes is shaving and watching the kiddie.

I'm making a point about the thorough wash I gave her, because I had no clean washcloth and had to wash her by hand.

Now, I am trying to get to a funeral, already behind schedule, shaving my legs when I hear Marie going "Kaka!" Do you need that translated from the Flemish? I look over and see her sitting in the bath, and she has indeed pooed in the bath.

Now, you think "no big deal, scoop it", right? I've been there, done that. Only she has the most amazing diarrhea which somehow has managed to colour ALL the water brown. AND there's bits, too. (Yes, I know - too much information. It's not like I didn't warn you.)

Now I have half a leg shaved and a sticky brown daughter in the shower with me. After hosing her down and washing her thoroughly (yes, by hand) again, I hand her back to her daddy.

When we all finally get to the church, Babes (I'm so glad he was there) checks Marie over, just in case. In the process, he gets poo all down his shirt. I have to say, I don't know what we would do without wet wipes because these suckers are the best stain removers in.the.world. No stain in sight. And with it being about 38 degrees by then, the shirt dries in no time as well.

Then somehow Marie manages to hold it all in for hours, until just before we get home in the car, when she covers
* herself
* her clothes
* the car seat
* Babes' new trousers
in a lovely mustard-coloured, but sadly not mustard-fragranced substance.
A little hooray for
* more wet wipes
* washing machines
* detachable car seat covers.

Since then, we have had many more wonderful adventures in liquid waste product land, but I realise there is a threshold for this kind of thing, and it was reached a while ago.