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I think too much about poo, do you?

 

Me: Remember when we were normal people? People who didn’t give much thought to poo, and people who certainly didn’t talk about poo?

Him: Yeah, that was pre-2009. Then we became parents.

Being a stay at home mummy gives me so much joy. But some days (washing day, usually), it can feel quite monotonous and repetitive. Whites, colours, pinks (yes, thanks to Baby Daughter, I now have a whole load of pink clothes to wash separately), and the dreaded browns.

In our household the division of labour is quite even. Perhaps this was established early on because usually we both work outside the home. But when I’m on maternity leave, like now, I take on the household duties. I do the laundry. And I usually don’t mind.

Last week I found myself unexpectedly going under the knife for a little bit of surgery. I totally minimised the extent of the operation in my own mind (possibly a coping mechanism), and was shocked at the required recovery time. So my husband played Mr Mom for the week (and did a fantastic job I might add). But the poor love doesn’t possess my stain removal prowess, and put all the crap-coated baby clothes in a bucket of water, sprinkled some Napisan on top, and left it to fester in the laundry for about a week.

So today when I went to start the washing, I did mind. I was just doing my thing, as per usual, when I noticed a whiff of unpleasantness. I took the lid off the bucket and was hit right in the face with the foul stench of poo soup, which had been cooking for about a week too long.

I won’t shock you with the heated conversation that came next (let your imagination do its worst).  Suffice it to say that my husband now knows not to hide and forget pooey baby clothes. I mean, they were growing mould. The smell was so pungent it wouldn’t surprise me if they’d begun to decompose. They had to be sacrificed.

This awful experience showed me two things:

  • I remove stains Like a Boss; and
  • I think too much about poo

I have invested an unhealthy amount of time to the creation of  a criteria for determining whether to keep or throw away pooed-on-clothes. Crappy nappies, pooey pants and skid marks galore. I can handle whatever they throw at me. Literally. Two weeks ago Sam was bringing me his (full) potty to show me his great work, tripped over, and threw the potty at me. I was still relieved he didn’t poo in his training undies. That’s how much I hate pooey pants.

I’ve even stood in the laundry looking at a soiled pair of toddler undies doing mental calculations that go like this:

If a three-pack of training undies is $9, then one pair  is $3. One pair of Huggies Pull Ups is $0.92. So if I’d put him in a Pull Up today, it still would have cost me 92 cents and I’d be throwing that in the bin. Well done you, Bronwyn, for persisting with the toilet training. Now is it worth two dollars and eight cents to me to wash this monstrosity? NO! I need a cup of tea. Right after I throw this out and disinfect my hands three times.

Until now this knowledge has lived in my mind. But I read online that successful blogging requires use of effective infographics.  The experts advise to write about what you know – and I know POO. So here it is, my first infographic. About poo. I’ll refrain from saying my life is now fulfilled, but I’m really glad to get this out:

 

pooey baby clothes

Do you think too much about poo now that you’re a Mummy? What are your best stain-removal techniques? What’s your least favourite household chore?

 

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