Today has been a day of abundant bodily fluids.

Firstly, we had Puke Incident number one. Not one of my boys gastric offerings, I would like to state for the record, though whether that makes it better or worse I’m not sure.

Poor DB1, after only five minutes in the play barn, came hobbling across the floor, despairingly clutching his little arse and weeping profusely. I initially presumed that he’d shat himself. He tends to have this type of reaction when he hatches a poo.

However, on closer inspection, I realised that the reason behind his wailing was due to his bottom being coated in sick. Some other little sod had vomited up what seemed to be a digestive biscuit on the slide, which DB1 had slid directly into when whizzing merrily down.
This coating of viscous vomit resulted in a frantic trip to the toilet, where DB2 decided to add a certain frisson to proceedings by trying to roll off the changing table while I hurriedly stripped DB1 off and washed the trousers in the sink. The tiny bog was filled with the high pitched squealing of DB1, screaming repeatedly about wanting his ‘TWOUSERS ON!’ combined with the delighted chortles of DB2 as he blithely tried to clamber the metre and a half to the hard, cold floor.

Bodily fluid incident number two was rather extreme in nature. DB2, at around 3pm, decided to produce a hefty and foul smelling poo. So off we all trotted upstairs to deal with the offending nappy. No sooner had I laid him in the cot on his change mat and removed the nappy, had DB2 seized his Peter Rabbit plush toy and plunged it deep into the mess.
Just as I removed the now revolting toy from his little fists (also poo smeared) DB2 decided to start the real fun, by launching a fully fledged piss attack all over the change mat, cot, floor and nappy, turning the already rancid poo into an unholy swamp. Which DB2 then plunked his legs into with great enthusiasm.
I then dashed him into the bathroom, suspended gingerly by the armpits, little plump poo covered legs kicking with gay abandon, to douse him thoroughly in water,all of which he seemed to find most amusing. Probably because the little tyke was busy plotting the next awful twist in this smelly tale.
No sooner had I popped him, nappyless, bare bottom squelched on the carpet of his room (naively thinking that surely, after such an abundance of piss, he wouldn’t need to go again) then he released another ferocious out pouring of urine. All over his cream carpet.
So the next ten minutes were spent on hands and knees, scrubbing at the carpet, until the last vestiges of wee were eliminated. Once completed, I stood up, back creaking, to admire my handiwork. DB2 looked up, gurgled happily, then vomited all over the very same spot that I had just cleaned.
At this point, I will confess, the urge to simply retreat to a darkened corner and rock silently to and fro til OH came home from work, was strong indeed.

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