I’ve been a changing nappies since I was 10. I am well used to super poos, or “The Poonami”, as I often refer to the most savage nappy explosions.
But today, just as I was looking at the clock for the 189th time wondering HOW THE FECK it was only 6.14pm, Princess decided to treat me to a new level of Poonami.
We were on Skype singing Happy Birthday to my nephew, when I got a whiff of puke. Of vomit. Of that distinct and unmissable pong of stale belly bile. As I hastily hung up on the family in Scotland, (seriously wondering how they hadn’t smelled it), I checked to see if and where the Princess on my knee had puked. She hadn’t, and so I blamed the hoodie she had insisted on pulling on her to go outside earlier.
And then I realised that the smell of puke was NOT in fact of puke. It was ACTUALLY of the Poonami in her nappy. The explosion in the bum bag was so hideous, that I can not simply refer to it as a Poonami. That would be unfair on the humble Poonami. NO. What was (just about) being held in by the Bum Bag, was not a Poonami. It was disgusting. It was vile. It was a new level of shite that I have not witnessed or seen before. (And remember please my love of red grapes and hot Indian dishes.)
Princess had not simply Pooed. She had vomited out of her posterier. She had Butt boked. She had arse vomited. Because what I cleaned up, should only ever be projectiled into the porcelain bowl. It should NEVER exit the bottom of a Baby.
Has she been unwell? No.
Has she been off form? No.
Was she OK afterwards. Hell yes. She continued the evening as happy as a pig in the proverbial and light as a fecking feather. She is cutting nasty big teeth, and normally, has a history of savage Poonamis while teething, but she must be cutting an 18ct gold Wisdom tooth tonight, because there was nothing normal about this.
I have never before, nor do I ever again, want to experience the Arse Puke. The vest went into the nappy bag along with the nappy. Actually, this bad boy required three nappy bags and then a plastic bag, and it didn’t even get to make the usual pit stop in the inside bin. Oh no. Once Princess was dipped and dressed, this particular nuclear device was escorted straight outside to the big bin.
Traumatised I tell you …
This morning, I bought a lovely new bottle of a new gin that I have been meaning to try. “I’ll open that on Friday night” thought I as I slipped it into the trolley between (thank Jebus) the nappies and the lemons.
Friday night my backside. It tastes wonderful. And oh how good it smells! It has finally removed the smell of the bum boke from my nostrils.
How was your day?