*Disclaimer: If you were planning on reading this while eating something at your desk, DON’T. This post contains scenes of a graphic nature and may contain fowl language.
Last night I was at my wits end, my 10 and half month old boy is keeping in his poop, I know the doctors say that this is not possible for kids so young, but I can promise you it is the case-you couldn’t pry those cheeks apart with a crow bar, anyway so there we are, in the bath, when I have a little light bulb moment. Why don’t I use the snot-suction thing that I got in the grooming set that must-have-been-designed-for-an-elephant-as-it-is-so-huge-it-won’t-go-up-my-child’s-nose (turns out it is not a suction thing at all but really meant for what I actually used it for last night).
So there we were, I ran a lovely bath for him, he was happily crawling around chasing his rubber ducky, or something similar, and the wicked witch of the South (that’s me in case you were wondering) take this elephant enema tool and start squirting luke-warm water where no child in their right mind wants water squirted. He clenched his but cheeks so tight that I got some residual spray, lovely -Note to self: wear diving mask or possibly those helmets the riot police have.
The thing about an enema is it is really effective and it works super fast, a fact that I was not aware off. I was happily operating under the illusion that I can give him the (lets just call it a treatment, as I get little flashbacks of what transpired in our bathroom if I use the words enema *shiver*) treatment, and give him a quick bath and then let him do his deed in the clean nappy that I had on hand. Oh the best laid plans. It must have been a full on 10 seconds after the final swish of water passed and all hell broke loose.
I am sorry if this sounds crass but there were turds flying everywhere, and the boy was screaming like they were made out of hot coals.
Sidebar: the man is in JHB so bear in mind that I was one pair of hands short
So there we were, floaters everywhere, looked like a pearl harbour after the Japanese came to visit, and the boy was cranking out the desibels. The only solution that I could think of was to pick him up out of the bath and hold him tight (while he was finishing his business on my lap-lovely-I did warn you) and try and catch the floaters with his yellow beach pale. Those things are so damn slippery that all I manage to do with the tools at hand was smash them into the side of the bath. Unfortunately this was a job that had to be done manually. Finally with the coast clear-so to speak-I drained the water, and gave the bath a thorough scrub-bear in mind that I still had the screaming/crapping child on my lap.
Half an hour after my light bulb moment he was happily in a spring-fresh bath and I had to change my clothes.
The worst part of this whole palava?
There was no wine to drown my sorrows with/ease the emotional scarring that ensued after the manual labour.
The up side?
He only woke up once during the night, a damn site better than the 5 times the night before, and I can in all honesty say that that boy has a clean colon this morning. I have the mental scarring to prove it!
Will I ever give him an enema in the bath?
Hell NO! I am thinking of getting a kill room like Dexter’s? Anyone know any good contractors?