A Nappy To Remember

It may be a double standard, as kindly pointed out by the lady behind the tea counter at playgroup, but it was a double standard I was perfectly comfortable with. My opportunities to gorge on biscuits are becoming fewer and farther between as Chickie monitors all carbohydrate consumption to ensure all distribution is equally apportioned. Therefore, as far as I was concerned, my hiding behind the counter ramming as many of the children’s malted milk biscuits into my mouth as my cheeks could store, whilst Chickie was momentarily distracted, was nothing short of brilliant.

When Mummy Hamster reappeared, Chickie was clueless. Admittedly, eating five at once is a less enjoyable and a slightly higher choking risk than my usual savouring every crumb approach, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It was all going swimmingly and Chickie was merrily playing in Happy Land oblivious to my stealth munching. That was until another mummy appeared with a handful of biscuits. Without so much as a cursory glance in my direction, she handed one to Chickie. As he’d already had one and it was nearing lunch, he wasn’t supposed to be having anymore. Trying to remove the biscuit from Chickie’s vice like grip wasn’t easy and a monster tantrum ensued causing every head to turn in our direction. As I sat there covered in crumbs and with cheeks swollen to mumps proportions, I realised it may have looked a tad hypocritical of me to reduce my baby to tears over one shortbread finger.

Hours later, I knew Chickie was still traumatised following the forced separation from his biscuit, as he whinged and whined his way through the rest of the day. We were also navigating our way through the treacherous 7-10 day post-MMR period that I’d be warned about. As the day progressed, Chickie’s mood deteriorated and his cheeks crossed the line from rosy glow to crimson tide. I was left flummoxed as to whether it was biscuit, inoculation or toothy peg related so out came my trusty paracetamol laced friend.

The next morning, all became clear as I changed Chick’s morning nappy. Luckily, whilst approaching week four of my non-specific viral infection, I’ve received a complimentary snot top up leaving me unable to smell. It was the most satisfying nappy I’ve ever had the privilege to change and the biggest deposit Chickie’s made at the Botty Bank since he opened his account. The laxatives had finally overridden Chickie’s lockdown. He's now chirping since dropping his own body weight in poop overnight.