Yay!
I mean, Poo!
Shall I recount endless stories of awkward situations like the Beach Terrace Café in Lytham where a baby Will had to be changed on the floor as the toilets were packed out and he had an explosive nappy?
*explosive nappy, def: one which, despite all precautions, leaks disastrously, to a more serious degree than Chernobyl, leaving poo streaking up the back and over the shoulders.
Or the one where I changed him in a service station toilet, strapped into one of those fold down baby changers. I bent down to get a nappy out of the ruck sack. Well, I bet you can guess the rest.
Yup, he started to pee and Murphy's law stated that the angle and position of my head meant that he peed straight into my right ear....
Then there's the copious (pun intended) vomit stories!
But you come out the other side relatively unscathed. Wibble.
OK, so I have huge quantities of grey hair I did not have before baby No 1 was born, but that COULD just be old age.
Or so they tell me.