The battleground of snot

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I know all children are snotty, I knew this before I had a baby and it was one of the things I was least looking forward to (nappies, birth and vomit were also high on my dread list), but I hadn’t actually appreciated what the worst bit of it would be.

I knew that an immunity to snot would develop because even though I as an adult cannot stand looking at either runny or crusty noses there are so many of them around that I assumed parents became ultimately indifferent, but I have discovered that’s just not true.
My son constantly has a crusty nose, and often can be found with a river of snot waving it’s way towards his mouth.
It upsets me, I find it disgusting to look at, but it’s still there.
You may ask why…and you would be right to ask.
The simple answer is not that I don’t notice or don’t care, but in the crazy battle of attempted nosewiping I realise that before I get the tissue anywhere near the little snotrag said snot will first find its way onto my shoulder, trouser leg, the rug, the sofa and probably somewhere on my skin…
…you have to pick your battles.
I am starting to come to terms with the snot, I flit between blaming it on his fortnightly trip to playgroup, teeth and the lack of manners in society (ok so the last one is unlikely but it’s a real problem).  In the same way that I came to terms with poo after I got sprayed by one…who knew I would become a cloth nappy user.
PS I do notice that although the boy won’t allow a tissue near his nose if he can find a box of tissues, loo roll or tissue anywhere within reach he will immediately hone in on it.

Poonami and adventures with water

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It is strange that prior to having a child it wouldn’t have occurred to me to speak to complete strangers about toilet habits, but that’s all changed…well in respect of the boy in any event.  The big saga of poo started at around 5 months when we took Jem to Turkey for 3 weeks (brave you say?…yes, I know!)  For some reason the boy decided that poo was no longer necessary, I was still exclusively bf at this point, so it was a bit strange, as bf mothers will know that breast milk can lead to rather a lot of poo.  Despite being freezing cold the entire time we were there (no I didn’t take a coat for either of us, but I did take a selection of t-shirts, vests and shorts…it’s Turkey, it’s supposed to be hot) we thought it might be dehydration so decided to try and feed him water.  Jem has never really taken to a bottle after a bout of bottle refusal at around 3 months so we resorted to warm water from a turkish tea glass, which worked pretty well in terms of drinking but had no effect on getting things moving.  Despite my intention not to start weaning until we returned to the UK I resorted to fresh figs.  These went down a treat…but still no movement.

Anyway naturally what I should have done was simply take him to an inconvenient location, literally seconds after sitting down to my kofte in a restaurant in a busy shopping centre the poonami arrived.  I’m not going to lie, it was not my finest moment.  The whole situation ended with me throwing his entire outfit in the bin, using up a whole bag of wet wipes as I frantically cleaned poo from legs, back and hands, and screaming for the Turk to come and help me out in the ladies room…

You’d think that this would teach me a lesson, but no…in the entire 3 weeks Jem only emptied himself 3 times while we were away…all 3 times we were in the same blooming shopping centre…

 

Post-script:

We recently returned to Turkey for another three weeks.  Jem only had one poonami.  It was in a shopping centre #motherhoodfail