We got home from a futile shopping trip today (futile because I bought nothing when I really need to find shoes to match the dress for this weekend's Christening; who'd have thought finding size 5s would be so hard?) in time for a nappy change.
I hadn't heard a poo. I hadn't felt a poo. I hadn't smelt a poo. So I wasn't expecting a poo.
Of course, there was poo. Lots of poo. And before I could stop him, Elijah had his hand down there in the poo! A fight ensued to keep his pooey hand out of his mouth. Everytime I got the hand clean and started on the main problem area, he got his hand down there again!
Somehow, in the struggle, Elijah got poo all over his change table, legs, arms, hands, shirt, singlet and rattle, not to mention where he got me. Of course when I took the rattle away so he wouldn't put it in his mouth, he objected very strongly. In fact, if he could talk, I'm sure he would have said, "For goodness sake, Mum, I'm a right mess here. The least you could do is let me entertain myself while you attack me with those bum wipes."
Sometimes I wish I had an extra hand or two. That would have helped!