That’s not a poo-splosion, THIS is a poo-splosion!
I rarely use exclamation marks. This one is, believe me, deserved. Time for a daily awesomeness that uses the OTHER meaning of “awesome”.
Alternate title: The Bum-Gun.
Picture the scene: It’s 5:00am and all is quiet except for a stirring infant and her mother; a woman light-headed and blurry from lack of sleep. It’s time for a feed and – judging by the smell – a nappy change.
The mother cuddles the infant and places her on the change table. She skillfully scoops up a very full load of nappy without letting it spill and stain the baby’s clothes or wrap. She drops it in the nappy bin and reaches for the wipes with a smirk of self-congratulation.
That’s when it happens.
Pow! Blam! Squirt!
A stream of liquid poo shoots up (yes, up) and out (yes, out) at a 45 degree angle (yes, a 45 degree angle) hitting the mother’s hair and spraying across the carpet and furniture.
The mother emits an inarticulate noise of shock and awe. She freezes, thinking, “Did that just happen?”
It did. Oh yes, it did. There is no mistaking the angle of attack: The evidence lies, warm and pungent, half a metre above the scene of the crime. In my hair. So much for gravity.
Five centimetres to the left, and I’d have copped it in the mouth.
Is this the face that conceals a startling secret weapon?
It is. Oh yes, it is.
Felicity Banks 