Man in his Pyjamas A collection of comedy writing, poetry and Asperger Syndrome.

A leathery forearm

A leathery forearm

A leathery forearm

This is a short cautionary tale about the importance of encouraging toddlers to  speak clearly when they talk to you.  This may not be one of your top priorities, but after reading this, it may be higher up your to-do list than you think.

After a very successful transition from nappy-to-potty and then potty-to-toilet, my boy has now taken to announcing that he needs a poo, by running anti-clockwise around the room and shouting POO at the top of his voice.

This does not worry me too much –  now that I have got used to it.  It can be slightly embarrassing if you are at a friend’s house or out and about, but I am fast becoming accustomed to being humiliated in public by my children. That’s just parenting 101.

The problem I have with it is that POO when shouted by a toddler with poor diction, sounds like WOO.  So what I hear you say?  No big deal.  Yes I agree, no big deal. No big deal the second time around you hear it i.e. when you know that WOO means POO.  The first time around when you don’t know WOO means POO and you think POO means WOO, you are more inclined to let your child continue to run in around circles without intervention.

I mean that’s what toddlers do isn’t it?  Run around, shouting and waving their arms about. So I was not paying that much attention if I’m being honest. Bear in mind I only have one working leg at the moment for heavens sake. I also had a baby to contend with, plus Twitter and plus the darts. It is not that I wasn’t in total control (in case wifey reads this) it’s just that I was multi-tasking and that‘s why I didn’t see that the run around and shout game also now included holding ones bum cheeks as if they were about to fall to the ground.

It was, or so I thought, an ordinary run-of-the-mill day, with ordinary noise and ordinary annoying, hyperactive children. And then it all came to a terrible head. It all happened in a flash, so quickly, so terrifyingly quickly, that it still haunts me nearly a week on.  I was awakened from my absent-minded multi-tasking by two simple words “DADDY LOOK”

OH MY GOD NO!  That was me shouting.

As I sat on the floor with a braced leg and a baby in my arms, I was presented with a three year old bare bottom shoved in my face. His trousers were around his ankles, his pants were part pulled down, and there was what can only described as an 18-stone-builders poo in his briefs, gently swaying side-to-side like a leathery forearm relaxing in a hammock.

It was HUGE. He  hardly eats anything for *****sake.  How in God’s name can my small boy produce a log big enough to trip over? It defies the laws of the universe. Something is amiss.  I think there may be some sort of portal to an alternate dimension hidden in the bum hole of my son. Seriously. WHAT ON EARTH?

What followed I can only describe as Laurel and Hardy on acid.  Bad acid. Take it from me, it is hell on toast trying to get one boy and his poo upstairs, without spilling any,  and whilst a screaming baby clings to your one good leg i.e. the leg attached to the foot that you are balanced on because under strict doctors orders, the other foot can not touch the floor. How, by all that is holy, do you get all of that upstairs, when two of you can’t walk and one of you can only squelchy-waddle?  I don’t know how I did it, I really don’t.

I desperately want to give you a blow by blow account, to purge my soul, but I can’t remember. It is all a blur. A dirty, dirty blur. All I can clearly recall is that:

  • three of us were screaming,
  • at least two us got covered in poo
  • (one of us by poo not of our making)
  • one of us did A LOT of hopping
  • one of  us kept screaming “I told you, I told you”
  • one of us kept trying to grab the poo

The clear up was complicated, time-consuming and bad tempered. But you know what – time has passed, the tears have dried and the scars are slowly healing. We now have a system, a safety net, a fail safe, which you are very welcome to employ to ensure you never have to go through what we did. If just one family can be spared our ordeal, it will have been worth it.

Let’s practise – m’kay – GO

Him: *runs up to Daddy, holds Daddy’s face with both hands, looks Daddy in eye and shouts very loudly and very clearly*  “P-P-P-POOOOOOOOO”

©2013 Man in his pyjamas. All rights reserved.


7 Thoughts on “A leathery forearm

  1. Hilarious! Must have been horrific at the time, but makes for very funny reading :)

  2. maninhispyjamas on January 12, 2013 at 11:09 said:

    I think this makes us brethren I’m not sure? Either-hoo, I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading – keep doing it. :)

  3. Cindy on January 12, 2013 at 11:26 said:

    Oh yes – brings back many “happy” (!!!!!!!!) memories……………also a mother of three – now grown up (thank God) boys!!

  4. Stixxy on January 14, 2013 at 15:53 said:

    Love it :D Whoooohahahahahahaha especially the ’18-stone-builders poo in his briefs, gently swaying side-to-side like a leathery forearm relaxing in a hammock’
    Seriously good read and a proper cheek hurter, breath catcher, belly gripping laughter coming from this end of my PC..x

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Post Navigation

Copy Protected by Chetan's WP-Copyprotect.