Right, well I'm back. And what has spurred me into action? That would be poo. When you have small children you see a lot of poo. In fact, as I am writing this my 10 month old has just sat very happily in his high chair and done an almighty rumbling poo in his nappy. I'm not looking forward to changing that one. My husband gets home in an hour and a half but I'm assuming it would be somewhat negligent of me to leave my smelly son 'till then? Drat. Hang on then. I may be some time...
... Wow. That was an up the back, complete change of clothes, can still smell it on me nappy explosion! Now where was I? Ah, yes, poo.
Last night on Twitter the talk got round to poo (it was only a matter of time) as bloggers such as @LadyCurd, @motherscuffer and @babberblog were discussing whether or not is was 'the done thing' to blog or tweet about poo and pottytraining. The general consensus seemed to be that it was. And that's where I chipped in with an off the cuff remark about eating my son's poo. Unsurprisingly, people clamoured - maybe that's a slight exaggeration - to know more.
One afternoon I was on my mobile phone to my husband. I can't remember what we were discussing but it was important enough for me to give my son some chocolate to keep him quiet while I spoke. Otherwise all I get is "Who's on the phone Mummy? Can I speak to them, Mummy? Who are you speaking to Mummy?". So I'm sitting on the sofa, slightly distracted and Toddler is sitting in front of me munching away on his chocolate. Next thing I know he is standing on the sofa beside me with some brown goo/mush on his finger and sticking it in my face.
Now, as anyone who has been around small children knows, when kids stick food in your face you go "Nom nom nom" and nibble at it at, and then go, "Mmmmmmm, that was yummy". For some reason they love this.
So my son has this brown goo/mush all up in my face and I do the whole "Nom nom nom" nibble bit (I'm still on the phone) but don't really get as far as the "Yummy!" bit as it became quite apparent rather quickly that this was not chocolate. My brain raced fast and reached a horrific, and unfortunately correct, conclusion.
Not wanting to fully close my mouth around the rancid taste I garbled "This is not chocolate" grabbed my son's finger and smelt it (yes, yes, I know - that should have happened waaaaay sooner) and my fears were confirmed.
"I've got to go" was all my husband heard and then I hung up the phone, raced to the bathroom and tried in vain to rid myself of the taste and texture of the feces, leaving a poor bewildered little boy standing on the sofa with a very messy nappy and a dollop of poo on his finger.
Now I know that you all want to know, what does poo taste like? And I consider it an honour to let you know that it tastes of.... nothing. Of waste. But it's not a tasteless nothing. It's an overpowering sense of excrement upon the palate. It's clear that the body has removed all the good stuff and left... well, this. Crap. Shit. Dung. Whathaveyou.
Lessons have been learnt from this episode and I now closely inspect and scrutinise any Unidentified Food Objects shoved in my face. After this, even those cardboard baby rice cakes taste quite nice, but I ain't taking any chances!