This one's not for the squeamish I'm afraid as it rates pretty highly on the 'gross out' spectrum. But a story that needs some telling as an example of the perils of Daddy Day Care. Oh, the perils.
Our saga begins at the local pool, where the son and I have been regular visitors over the last few weeks. Usual practice is that he is dressed in a normal nappy for the car trip there but we then change him into a swimmer nappy upon arrival before spending the next hour or so in the water together. Plenty of good times and the son's water abilities and confidence are growing immensely with each visit.
The thing is, the swimmer nappies are merely made for No. 1s rather than No. 2s. In fact, it's highly undesired for any sort of No. 2 action to take place while a swimmer nappy is on. (we're talking about the son here...not me of course)
So on this fateful day, the son and I are again enjoying our time in the water and he's jumping in and jumping out and chasing me and me chasing him. All of a sudden, he stands straight up and starts moving quickly toward the steps out of the pool. I'm watching from a few metres away thinking he'll come charging back down and try and chase me again.
Alas, the son fully steps out of the water and runs to a nearby pole and hides behind it. "Ahhh", I think, "it's a game of hide and seek". So I move around and make out that I can't find him with the obligatory dialogue "where is he...I can't see him, etc".
I then notice that the son is crouching on the ground with his head between his legs. Shizza. Big shizza. That's his pooing position. And then a loud grunt confirms it all for me. It's No. 2 time. And he's only wearing a swimmer nappy.
The dilemma is large. Do I try and get him to a toilet in the middle of it all? Or just get him into the change rooms and then wait for it to be all finished before changing? Given the time elapsed and no doubt a rather full nappy already, I decide it has to be the second option and pick him up carefully and carry him to the changerooms. It has to be a careful pickup. We want to minimise any seeping out the sides.
So we're now in the changerooms and the son is telling me 'more yuck' meaning he hasn't finished. He doesn't like being around anyone while he is doing it so he goes and finds a corner near a utility room. Again, leaning over with his head between his legs and the occasional grunt and groan.
I set forth and start getting ready for the 'poo-nami' that is coming and lay out a towel and get all the change equipment out and strategically placed. Other people are wandering in to get changed and no doubt questioning the smell in the room. I therefore try and hurry the son up so that it can all be over with but he's still saying "Dad, more yuck".
After about 10 minutes, he finally allows me to pick him up for the extraction process to begin. Boardshorts and rashie come off first to avoid cross-contamination and I can already see some interesting material trying to break out of the swimmer nappy. With a deep breath, I then attempt to slide it down and over the son's feet to get it off. And of course the inevitable happens. It all slides down his legs and feet with the swimmer nappy.
I'm sweating profusely at this moment under the corrugated iron roof and cursing the strawberries and kiwi fruit I fed the son a mere hour ago. We're not finished yet though so another delicate procedure of wrapping the now-redundant swimmer nappy up and trying to place into a garbage bag without any more leakage.
I manage to negotiate this procedure pretty well but can't come away fully unscathed. Yes, I quick look down to my hands is not good news. Thank god the wipes are well placed as I manage to get my hands 'clean' while still trying to make sure the son doesn't stand in or on the garbage bag with the other hand.
It's then a tale of Wipe City as about 18 are needed to fully clean the son and some of his clothing. I make a mental note to buy some shares in the company that make the wipes. They must make a fortune out of these types of scenarios.
In the end, I decided a shower is in order and place the son underneath the water. He's loving it and giggling at me as I try and place the flow of water in the appropriate places. He then comes out with the immortal words "Mine yuck on Dad" and giggles even crazier. Yeah, thanks son. Cheers for letting everyone else know.
When that's all done, the son seems to have lost the weight of the world off his shoulders. Or more precisely, off his bum. Because he's now a bit 'hyper' and running in and out of the changerooms while I try and get changed myself and locate a spot to offload the culprit garbage bag. Finally I'm sorted and pick up the bag with ends of my fingertips and head on out of the changerooms. 'It's over' I'm thinking. 'Let's be free of this place and never speak of it again'.
I scoop up the son and in one motion place the garbage bag in a nearby bin. "Quick son, let's get the hell out of here" I say and start walking quickly for the exit. The son loves the quick movement and obviously isn't affected in any way by the horror of the last 25 minutes and is laughing and giggling away.
Oh, to be a toddler again. No. 2's without impunity and a world full of giggles and laughs. The upcoming toilet training is going to be tough for sure. But after this, it'll definitely be worth it. Let's just hope there's no repeat before that time. There's only so many 'poo-namis' that I can handle.
EDM.
(you were warned!)
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