It does not take long to realise that there are two reasons why babies crack the shits. The first and most obvious reason is that they are hungry. This is something that tends to stay with us for life, as we are all guilty of occasionally catching a case of the hangries. For me it can flow on to road rage, like for example if I am on my way to get something to eat and some cockhead takes my parking spot. In these situations I am thankful that in Australia we do not have open carry laws, because heaven help the man that parks between me and my burrito.
The second, and perhaps slightly less widely known reason, is gas. Despite the guts of a baby only having to deal with one thing, milk, they seem to have one hell of a time processing the stuff without causing an unbelievable build up of noxious wind. It’s hard to imagine where it all goes, as they are only the size of a large potato with arms, yet they are still somehow capable of storing enough methane to take out a small village.
People often refer to the term ‘burping’, whereby after a good feed you pat the baby in order clear the pipes with a few belches. In my eyes, the burps are just a support act, because all the serious action is at the other end. My 3 week old daughter rips genuine man farts. These aren’t just little sphincter whistles, they have some serious bass. They have depth. And they sometimes roll in packs of three or four. We have a monitor in her bassinet which is set to standby, designed only to turn on when she starts crying loudly enough to trigger it. Despite this, we have at times attempted to relax downstairs, only to be interrupted by the soothing sounds of a fart being wirelessly streamed into our ear lobes. What a wonderful age of technology we live in. We still don’t have hoverboards, but at least we have this. If only our ancestors could see us now.
People talk about their house being desecrated by the smell of poo, due to nappies sitting in a bin or dispenser, but honestly that hasn’t been any kind of issue. What is truly devastating to the nasal receptors is housing a seven-pound bum trumpet in a zipped up onesie. Because when you open it up and release a collective arsenal of stink bombs in one foul swoop it is like being shot in the face at point blank with an ass cannon.
What’s more, because she generally has a nap after being fed, she’ll lie in our bedroom dropping air biscuits for a couple of hours, meaning that by the time I finally open the door and walk into the room it smells like someone’s just opened a sack of anuses.
So be warned, as this was not something I was entirely prepared for. Shitting, burping, spewing, I’d heard the stories about that. No one told me that I would be housing a neverending fart sack.
I’ll make sure to read this one out at her 21st.