No one really tells you that being a parent means having someone else’s bodily fluid on you.
Today’s selection include:
Chocolate from E’s mouth. You bribe a kid with chocolate so he’s quiet when your eyebrows are being done, and he drools it on your leg. So really, it’s chocolate and drool.
Poo. That’s right, poo. E had a poo-splotion on the bus on the way home. Happily, or not so much, he was sitting on my knee. First I knew about it was when the smell hit my nose. I thought it was the trampy man near me at first. Then the sudden realisation the smell was my son hit me, about the same time the fluid sunk through his nappy, jeans, and then my leggings. You could tell when other people smelt the poo because they too kept looking and scowling at the trampy looking man. I stayed quiet.
We were foiled when we had to stand to get off. E’s legs looked wet and brown, my leggings had a bum shaped wet patch. And we smelt of poo.
Sick. Topping the day off, we got home, I undressed E (who got really upset when he saw the poo) hosed him down (in the shower), put him in the bath. Picked up H who threw up all over me, down to my bra. I’d say it was crap, but I already had that on me.
So yeah. No one tells you that you’ll be covered in bodily fluid that isn’t yours.