October 1, 2009

It has been brought to my attention, that any self-respecting blog, claiming to present an accurate sliver of my life, should contain shit.  It has been brought to my attention that my life contains LOT of shit.

Not metaphorical shit you understand, my shallow, but deeply enjoyable existence, contains only trace amounts of metaphorical shit. I am talking about real life faeces.  Steaming, stinking, faeces, of every texture, colour, and odour, imaginable.

Now you understand that I, like any other sane person without a scat fetish, would not just WANT to write about shit. But the point that has been made,that my blog reflects my life, and in order for that to be a truthful reflection, I must include a proportional representation of shit. THe shit I present in terms of bad writing, and rants informed by an over developed sense of justice, and a left wing bias, do not count. So I am going to share with you, the history of my relationship with shit.

Up until the age of 27 I was fairly regular, I avoided looking at shit, had the occasional bout of food poisoning which caused a more intimate relationship with it, occasionally  stepped in it- but to be honest, I avoided it where possible.

I read the baby books, I assumed I would become aquainted with a little bit of poo, once motherhood arrived. I felt that this shit would be tolerable. It would probably be scented by a cute baby smell, and eventually, after cheerfully changing a few nappies, that would be it. Back to a normal healthy relationship with shit.

MOtherhood arrived, and I was pleasantly surprised. The mustard seed, odourless offerings that emerged, while I was exclusively breastfeeding, were not altogether unpleasant. During a weekend visit to my foster parents- Rachel ate some carrot. Not a huge amount, am fairly sure, no more than a few chunks. Two hours later, when I was faced with a nappy, overflowing with genuine human turd, my relationship with shit changed.  The first smell of the day, since that carrot, instead of the smell of lightly toasted bread, and coffee, has been a steaming variant of the same human’s turd.

Up until 8 months ago, I would be faced by approx 3 steaming specimens daily. We went through a delightful period, where, in order to demonstrate she had filled her nappy, she would scoop a sample out to wipe on me, or waft under my nose. On Christmas morning, I awoke, not to the happy opening of presents, carefully chosen for me. But to the overpowering sensation of being surrounded by the overwhelming stink of turd- with my daughter shouting ‘Merry Christmas I made you a present’, while her open, full, steaming nappy, lay on my face.

Weaning my daughter, has given me an almost encyclopeadic knowledge of what foods look like when they have been digested. I only served her spinach once, and will not be doing so again, until she can take responsibility for her own toileting. THe accidental eating of 4 corn on the cobs, resulted in piles of brown mashed up, but very whole sweetcorn, for about three days. I would advise all parents to check that the raisins the baby is eating, are not pre-digested.  I would also strongly advise all prospective parents to avoid weetabix, on pain of death. Dried apricots will always result in an immediate bout of slightly explosive yellow diarrhoea(which can be undone by the consumption of a banana, which will solidify said diaorhea into a spongy brown, much more solid affair).

We are in the process of toilet training, and I am so intimately aquainted, and unfazed by shit, that I can actually get up from the table, mid meal, wipe her arse, and cheerfully sit back down and eat again. We regularly sit back to admire todays sweetcorn poo, or marvel at how she made three poos this time. I hope I never again hear the words- ‘mummy, I farted, and its wet’, while wandering around a packed and sunny Hebden Bridge. And I still get my first turd of the day, every single day, until I have the courage to abandon the night time nappy, and face beds full of the stuff.

Yet no matter how long this intimate relationship with shit lasts, I retain my very strong gag reflexwhen being presented with a turd, and to my daughters endless delight(much copying of gagging, and requests that I ‘sick it up’), I still, two years into this intimate relationship, feel like throwing up when presented with a particularly delightful shit.  All old wives tales of being immune to the smell of your offsprings faecal offerings, up in smoke, along with tales of not getting pregnant if you do it standing up.

So I acknowledge, to the person who raised this point. Between my daughter, and my smelly cat(who has lost the ability to park his arse over a litter tray)- my life has a LOT of shit. So here is the post, that ensures that the blog reflects life.



  1. holy shit! it doesnt get any better, my teenagers frequently fart & waft the foul odours around the room, charming creatures children.

  2. They really are quite gruesome!

  3. Best not mention the cat incident then!!!

    Possibly one of the funniest things I have read in a while!

    Cheers to shit!

  4. Brilliant. Wonderfully, revotingly, honestly brilliant. Dear Wee1, whilst potty-training, could be found gleefully sticking his finger up his bottom to see if he “needed” a poo… Floating turds in the bath are another delight.

    • Thanks very much. We reached a momentous occasion this week, and the bedtime nappys are being cast away. I am hoping that I will need this blog post to remind me of the poo days, because they will be a long distant memory.

      • Poos by night are a rare occurence (in my high-fibre household anyway). I forgot to mention that is is also gratifying to “meet” someone so spellbound as I on the binding and loosening properties of foods… 😉 Just so you know: I have 61/2 y-o still in nappies at night, and a 4-y-o free since 2… they are *all* different 🙂

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