We’re on our way to town when the smell hits us.. “Uh oh, M’s done a poooooo!” Exclaims K from the back seat.
The plan is to pull over, for Mr Junebug to change M in the boot of the car, pass her back to me for a feed and then continue on our merry way..
Mr Junebug is at the back of the car, laying out the change mat and preparing the nappy and wipes. I lift M from her capsule only to reveal the dreaded yellow seepage; Mr Junebug and I groan in unison. I happily hand her over – glad to be avoiding the shitfest that I know will be inside her pants.
I turn back to K to make conversation in attempt to avoid the guilt I feel knowing what I’ve just thrust upon Mr Junebug.
It doesn’t take long for the expletives to start emanating from behind us. I turn around to see Mr Junebug holding M in one hand, yellow crap dripping from each leg hole of her nappy; the other hand already completely covered in the offensive, yellow mess.
“I’m going to need help” he pleads – the understatement of the year. I’m on the backseat, wedged in between the car seat and the capsule, both doors child locked. I panic and scramble over the console, pulling a hammy and bashing my head on the roof in the process. I stumble out of the car and race around to grab M while Mr Junebug frantically scrubs the shit out from between his fingers.
Once on the change mat, I start to undo the press studs of doom. The things I saw inside that nappy, I can never un-see. M looks as though she’s been lounging in a poo jacuzzi – she’s yellow from the waist down. It takes half a packet of wipes, two nappy sacks, and two grown adults to clean and redress her. And this time, not even her socks survive unscathed.
Poonami; Level Up.