I sometimes think I am half woman, half sniffer dog. I kid you not. Since I became pregnant for the first time nigh on 7 and a half years ago I have developed the most extraordinary sense of smell. I, for one, have the aptitude to sniff out a stale cigarette from 500 feet. Woe & behold any gym socks squirrelled away unwashed in a gym bag within 1 mile radius of the house. I just come over all Liam Neeson on them:
“Hey Socks, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you want. I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career (6 years and counting…..) I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
Maybe a little dramatic…but it passes the day.
I know that I am not the sole possessor of this incredible gift. I think it is a Mammy thing really. You get pregnant & you develop remarkable olfactory skills. What’s more? They stay with you forever.
This is both a blessing and a curse.
Let’s set the scene.
6:45am, Thursday morning, kids all piled into our bed whilst I was having a sneaky look on my instagram.
4th born navigates his way onto the floor (probably to do something safe like play with the leads for the lamps or chew my phone charger). With a few minutes I smell it and I know its there. Now 4th born is a creature of habit so I’m fairly attuned to when it’s nappy time even before it happens so this was completely expected and nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just I didn’t have to look to know it was there.
So I didn’t look. And this, my friends, added to my woes.
By the time I had checked that there was nothing major happening in the wonderful world of instagram, I began to register a little more than mild concern that the smell was strangely intrusive.
And it was at that same moment that 2nd born left shriek to rival that of a banshee’s. You know that wail the banshee uses to warn of imminent death – all high pitched & terrifying.
“Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaa, 4th born is sitting and playing in his poooooooooooooo”
And with that I lept to my feet, sending phones, blankets, baby bottles, nappies and by-standers (the other 50% of my off-spring) flying in different directions. General bedlam ensued for the next 10 minutes. In fact the only party unperturbed by the whole scenario was the culprit himself, who was by now sitting in a pool of his own excrement. At this point he was splashing his hands up and down in it – in the exploratory way that babies do.
Picture a 9 month old in 2 inches of bath water just kicking and splashing, delirious with excitement for their new found discovery. But this wasn’t bath water.
It’s a scene that will stay with me forever.
Oh did I neglect to mention that last week 4th born had a tummy virus…..yes…hence the splashing. It was quite literally EVERYWHERE. And where exactly is the right place to start in a situation like this. He was quite literally a wriggling ball of his partially digested pre-dawn bottle.
I wretched, shrieked, cursed, danced a sort of “mad woman looking for a solution” jig and called the husband. He swiftly followed suit and we stood for a good 45 seconds passing 4th born from one to the other as if he was a hot coal. We definitely broke some sort of world hot potato record.
And so a massive clean up operation ensued for the following 20 minutes. His tiny clothes were boiled washed to a size that rivalled that of 1st born’s Lego Friends attire. A few bits even made their way to the bin.
Isn’t Parent Life fun?
Your’s still avoiding that spot on her bedroom floor,