Sh*t happens

Amazing how parenthood changes your perspective. I can remember goggling in horror at friends' children if they had the slightest bit of muck or slime about them, and our cats will tell you how spectacularly unimpressed I am to be dribbled on.

While the 'ew yuck' factor is still present within me, it has been swamped by the 'aw cute' invaders still surfing in on my maternal hormones.

Braeden is the quintessimal grubby child. He has perpetually sticky fingers, moist face & bits of biscuit (well, we hope it's biscuit?) leave a permanent trail to show where he's been. If he were anyone else's sprog, I'd be clutching at the ceiling panels to avoid him, but instead I welcome his sloppy kisses, sticky pats & have even graciously accepted strange things thrust into my mouth for "sharing" (ohhh I really hope that was a gingernut!)

It's not like I don't TRY to keep him clean! However attacking him with a facecloth is almost as much of a battle as changing his nappy. Fists & feet fly, he does a marvelous imitation of the round-house Buffy The Vampire Slayer kick-thing (body acts like a top, legs act like flail mowers, sort of Kenny Everett meets Bruce Lee). The screams of outrage are deafening. And some of those even come from Braeden!

I'm proud to say I wimp out. When it's nappy changing time (and especially if he's at all fragrant!) I find something enchanting for him to clutch & afterwards I deal with the megatanty when I have to retrieve the DVD remote/cellphone/lipstick etc. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

Wayne, on the other hand, doesn't believe in distraction therapy, so you can tell when it's Dad's turn to change a nappy by the sqawks of "ARRRRGH BRAEDEN, PLEASE BE GOOD FOR DADDY, OH NOOOOOOO! NOW IT'S GONE EVERYWHERE, OH MY GOD, HONEY HELLLLLLPPPPP!" (At least that's what I think he's saying.. it's kinda hard to hear over Braeden's screams of outrage & indignation)

Matters are not helped about 24 hours after Braeden gets what Wayne so charmingly dubbed "Karl's Poo Stew". Once a week I grab a good selection of what's fresh in the vege line, simmer them together for a while, then mash up in the food processor with the contents of a tin of baby food (liver flavour). Then the pottles get frozen, and it's a great help when you're in a rush to make the baby's dinner, or if you have to go out.

For some unknown reason, this gets things moving again (and how!). Wayne gets quite white around the gills if Braeden ever misses his usual 8am motion, and gets distinctly nervous if it still hasn't arrived by mid afternoon, because that guarantees what baby is going to get for dinner that night.

Strangely, Wayne usually remembers urgent pressing reasons he has to be on the other side of Christchurch all day the next day.

Chicken! Poook pook poook...