I bet he does. Gold-plated neat little poos.
I am only pondering matters of such high intellect as it has been a particularly glamorous day chez nous.
Minor issues have included two doses of internal nasal serration, thanks to H’s razor blade nails and my apparent neglect in not spotting they are in fact lethal weapons. She also crawled off the bed as I was brushing my teeth this morning, causing many tears (hers) and much guilt (mine).
Another incident of near concussive proportions occurred earlier at dinner time when J hid under the table, and not having learned his lesson once in whacking his head on the table top, did it again for good measure. Lots more tears and me enjoying rare hugs. (I know, it is rather sad).
At a christening earlier, we thought J had wandered out of the hall and onto the road. Cue slightly frenetic searching before I thought it a good idea to quiz the child next to whom J had been sitting. ‘Have you seen that young boy with red hair who was sitting next to you a moment ago?’. ‘He’s here’, came the reply. And up popped J, who had moved to the floor to idly stop the blood circulating to and from his right index finger with about 240 loom bands.
However, one of my most glam parental moments came this afternoon when H would not settle. Tried feeding on both sides, shushing etc., and gave up. She was not going to sleep. So, playtime I thought. I picked her up and she thought that this was her ideal moment to bring up about a gallon of half digested breastmilk. All over the pillow, my dress, my hair and (great shot) straight into my left ear.
Not to be outdone, her brother thought this evening that it would be a good idea to save on the cost of a nappy by pooing in the bath he was sharing with his sister. He had complained of a sore tummy at dinner which I had put down to trapped wind. I was relieved to observe him expelling some of that wind in the bath, and praised myself on my maternal intuition from earlier. That praise soon turned to suspicion when J went uncharacteristically still and quiet. And yes, it was necessary for full scale evacuation – although the Fisher Price whale almost didn’t make it, and may yet need treatment for a water-borne disease, or just a bit of general beaching (as opposed to General Beeching).
Anyway, I digress. So, I thought ‘I wonder if Kate Middleton (as was) has these moments?’.
Of course she does.
But I bet she wouldn’t go to bed with festering vomit in her hair from several hours earlier. Nor would I, of course.
Perish the thought…