An hour ago Colin and I arrived home from his sister’s birthday celebrations, our third marathon of festivities in as many days. We were worn out! As we settled on the couch to Skype my brother in Holland we heard explosive sounds from the region of Cam’s nappy. After our standard protocol of a five minute wait, Col went upstairs to change Cam. I soon heard hysterical laughter and shouts of ‘Luce, come and look’ drifting down the stairs. I moseyed on up, expecting to be regaled by my delightfully cute son. Instead I found a war zone …
As Col was changing Cam’s nappy, Cam unleashed a second offensive. Col handled that with ease as it’s not the first time it’s happened to us, and the new nappy was well positioned so there were no casualties. However, while trying to keep the baby-grow clean, Col hoisted Cam’s nether regions skyward by holding up his ankles. And while in that prone position, our son unleashed his missile!
The projectile stream burst forth with all of Cam’s explosive capabilities behind it. Col’s hands, the changing mat, changing station and wall were instantly covered. Casualties of the resulting splatter were three pillow cases, the duvet, the bed frill, the plugs, the nappy bin, the dustbin, the nebuliser and three mobiles I had made. Col reckons that if the wall hadn’t been in the way we would have cleared the two metre mark.
And so instead of putting our feet up on the couch, Col and I have just spent half an hour cleaning the nursery. While Cam observed us from his cot, chortling merrily, all we could do was laugh – at ourselves, the situation, the ironic timing of Cam’s attack and all the new requirements bring a parent brings.