We were in the car yesterday coming back from a frozen trip to the zoo when I happened to remark to wifey that we were really lucky that the wee lass hasn’t done any epic car seat poo’s like M’laddo had done.
Car seat poos were also better known as gurgle poos because they were prefaced by a gurgling sound like trapped air making its way round the central heating system. The gurgling was the preface to a thing of true horror, culminating it the truly unforgettable gurgle poo of Wells Next the Sea Square. Imagine slightly runny smooth peanut butter, covering all of his bottom, his boy bits, more or less right down to his feet. Covering a fair part of the car seat, and eventually up to both our elbows. It took most of a packet of baby wipes to sort that one out.
The wee lass has been a lot better. Partly because she’s such a voracious eater, she tends to do lots of smaller, denser poos.
That’s why I commented to wifey in the car. Unfortunately she was listening. And plotting.
The wee lass likes a good play in the bath, so I thought she was just sighing in contentment until I saw the king size Mars bar she’d produced drifting serenely towards the tap. There was a look of smug satisfaction on her chops as I hastily removed her from the bath…