Poo frustrations

I woke up this morning to the unmistakable smell of poo.

My subconscious decided to tag out and let my consciousness deal with this one. Which was a real shame. Waking at 6.30 when your child happily sleeps till 8 is almost torture. I think worse than if said child actually woke you up herself.

So I stumbled into the offending room to see that I hadn't been mistaken, or disappointed by my acute sense of smell. 

Avalon was still sound asleep, but once again, her nappy couldn't cope with the volume of excrement which came out during the early hours of the morning, and as such, her hair, hands, legs were covered in chunky pieces of digested food.

I stood there, gagging and contemplating my options;

1. Go back to bed and delay the clean-up for another couple of hours.

(This wouldn't have worked, I knew I would be too disgusted to even get my mind in the space for sleep, so it quickly became an un-option.)

2.  Busy myself for another few hours and try to enjoy my early morning child-free.

3. Wake her up and bath her and just get it all over with.

Option 3 won. After all, I should treat my child the way that I would expect to be treated. If, unknowingly, I was sleeping in a pile of my own poo, I would hope that someone would wake me and clean me up. I couldn't do anything less than that for her.

So I woke my groggy girl, and held her at arms length while briskly walking to the bathroom. And after removing the saturated nappy, I plonked her into a warm bath. Good morning, gorgeous girl! 

I apologised to her the whole time and explained that she was smelly and needed a bath. I was thankful that despite her sensitive nature, I didn't have to contend with the mess and her screaming. She actually seemed to enjoy the wake-up call and splashed happily while I used a washer and copious amounts of body was to rid her of the offensive odour.

The bath took me 15 minutes until I was satisfied. The poor baby was pretty pink from scrubbing when I removed her to dry her off.

The irony doesn't escape me- I am almost obsessive-compulsive when it comes to dirt, and here I am, cleaning up child number one for the millionth time of these types of incidents, and I want 5 more of these? I must be out of my mind! 

I'm hoping the next 5 don't have digestive systems that only seem to function at night.