Some days are just poo

As a hapless grandparent, no one could ever say that I have nappy-changing down to a fine art.

Ashley Robinson. Picture: Patrick Woods

Last week's column was a rerun of a 2010 column which started with a story about nappies, poo and Glen 20.

The reason I used it was that I was at the lifesaving titles on the Gold Coast and never had time to write a column.

So I thought I would get away with an older one that basically explained that I was stupid in the '80s through to 2010 and nothing much had changed.

Well, last Monday, I had to get up at 4am to be back on the Sunshine Coast to babysit my grandkids while old mate went out.

So I got home, half-unpacked and took the dog for a walk (a dog, I might add, that hadn't seen me for nine days but just gave me a cold stare when he laid eyes on me and kept eating his breakfast).

I tried to get his trust back by going for a short walk, which coincided with the kids arriving.

On returning with the dog, I took the two kids to the beach for a walk so old mate could get ready.

But I made one fatal error: I didn't get the full briefing about food, nap time, bottle and, of course, nappy-changing.

On return from the beach, the kids wanted a bun and all I wanted was peace after nine days of walking up and down the beach in the blazing sun in soft sand.

So bun it was, and then I just sat down after I had had it to watch them play.

Then the five-year-old boy says with a smile on his face: "I think she has done a poo.”

He knows I am a rookie and loves it.

She then yells out "poo poo”, laughing, and runs to the change bed and sticks her legs up in the air.

She was right.

So I am trying to remember what to do and where everything is.

Off comes the nappy and I go to work gagging but getting it done.

I get the new nappy on and get her dressed and she is still going "poo poo” and pointing at the end of the bed.

There was half the contents of the nappy that must have fallen out when I took it off her.

So another nappy disposal bag ... and did I mention the smell? It was horrendous.

I must have washed my hands 10 times but I thought I was mentally scarred as I could still smell it.

Anyway, I finally sat down while they played and I could still smell it.

Then the little one walks over and is looking at me going "poo poo” and that is exactly how I felt.

But she then walked up to me and touched my knee and went "Pa, Pa. Poo”.

It was on my knee and, incidentally, now on her hand and shirt.

It turned out that when I was changing her nappy, a smelly missile flew out.

I must have stuck my knee in it while I was gagging ... I mean, concentrating on changing her, which explained why the smell was following me around the house.

At least, I guess, I have been consistent over the past four decades.

Side note: Today will be the first time old mate knows what went on when she reads this. Gee, I am glad the footy is on today.