Holding It In

(Warning:  This is a blog post about poo.  And wee.  If you are a parent, you'll find this to be a perfectly acceptable topic of discussion.  Otherwise, you will most likely feel like puking.) 

I never, ever, ever, ever, EVER thought bodily functions would be so significant as to warrant a written article, on my blog, on the internet. If it wasn't so disgusting it would be downright fascinating. But, from the instant a baby pops its head out of your vagina (or C-Section incision), the world will only turn on its axis if the infant shits and pees like a normal human being.  In the first few weeks of its life you are taught by doctors and midwives that your baby's bowel movement is just about the most important thing to happen in its day.  And so you observe (with scary precision) every utterance from its miniature sphincter.  

Projectile vomiting.  You read about it, you hear people talk about it but like bungee jumping, you can't ever really know the adrenalin rush of emerging from a waterfall of vomit, until it actually happens.  Which is usually at the following times: on your way out the door, before guests arrive for dinner and/or as you step out of the shower.  The amount of fluid that is ejected from a stomach purported to be the size of a MARBLE, is somewhat of a scientific anomaly and should really be studied in textbooks. 

But if you want to know the real definition of anticipation, then take your potty-training toddler on its first nappy-free outing.  With the threat of public urination (or worse) hanging over your head, you subject your child (loudly) to a stream of socially unacceptable questions every 15 minutes.  'Do you need to wee?  Do you want to make a poo?  Are you sure!?' and so it goes on.  But the humiliation doesn't end there.

If you're lucky enough to actually make it to a toilet and someone is unlucky enough to be stuck in the cubicle next to yours, they will be treated to a conversation that goes something like this:

'Pull your pants down. Sit nicely, OK hold your willy down so you don't wee on the toilet seat, good boy.  Have you finished?  You're having a poo?  It's OK I'm holding you I won't let you fall in.  You want to sing? (dear god) baa, baa black sheep have you any .... you want to get off?  OK let me wipe, no, don't pull your pants up yet I have to wipe your bum.  Bend down touch your toes, I can't see your bum properly.  Theeeeere we go.  All clean!!'

Freud, the skanky old coke addict,  might've been onto something.

Needless to say we survived uShaka Marine World (sans nappy) without so much as a wayward piddle.   I'm not sure if this was due to Finn's powers of retention or sheer luck, but I'm convinced I almost died from the suspense.