Parenting Peril

A horror story

This story is disgusting and should only be read by those who have nerves of steel.

Every morning, about ten minutes after he gets up, Bernard has a bowel movement. My theory is that it is something to do with gravity. As a result, I generally don’t change his nappy immediately, because I know that if I do, he’ll just need another change in half an hour.

This morning, it was my turn to do the early shift. So just before 6am, after a little bit of prompting, I hoiked him up onto my hip and turned to leave.

*Oh, and…* said Karen, *I think he’s already had his poo.*

It’s normally pretty obvious when he’s filling his nappy. He sits there, his neck disappears, his eyes diverge, his cheeks flush, and he kinda… gurns. There may also be audio and olfactory clues.

So I took him straight through for his nappy change. Plonked him down on the towel on the floor, some small resistance as usual, and took off his nappy.

It was empty.

Now, in retrospect, the smart thing to do at this stage would be to have considered the implications of this discovery. But like a man who has only just woken up, I gave him a quick wipe for freshness, and then picked up the wipe and nappy liner with the intention of taking them into the bathroom for disposal. Bernard sprang up, sprinted out of the room, and began urinating.

Oh no, I said.

In the bathroom, I disposed of the wipe and liner, and quickly washed my hands. I turned around.

Oh no, I said.

Bernard was doing a little dance in his personal puddle, with a freshly-laid turd next to him. Small streaks of poo adorned the carpet.

I carried him back to the towel, and wiped his arse again.

Now stay there, I said, while I clean up your mess.

I disposed of the wipes and then started work on the carpet. The turd lifted cleanly away, no problem, but the streaks were a little more difficult.

Satisfied at a job well done, I noticed Bernard out of the corner of my eye. He was holding something up to show me, squeezing it in his fist.

Oh no, I said.

I noticed another freshly laid turd on his towel.

Oh no, I said.

I noticed the shit on the clean nappy which I was about to insert him into.

Oh no, I said.

I noticed the shit on his pyjamas, and all the way up his left leg.




A few minutes later, Bernard was out of the shower, and all traces of faeces had been dealt with.

*I feel like that was my fault,* she meeked.

I can see why you might think that, I said.

Want more? See First terrifying nappy change tale

8 replies on “A horror story”

I vividly managed to picture the entire scene.. even down to the look on your face when you say “I HAVE REACHED THE POINT AT WHICH I REQUIRE YOUR ASSISTANCE!”

Frankly I laughed my arse off!


> This story is disgusting and should only be read by those who have nerves of steel.

or is a parent who this sort of thing is likely to have happened to at least once before.

My initial thoughts were “Shit happens. Deal with it”

> My initial thoughts were “Shit happens. Deal with it”

You know this. I know this. Other parents know this. 90% of readers of this site don’t.

[…] Some weekends, I let Pete sleep in until 8, but as the muffins were there, waiting to be eaten, Bernard and I had to go and fetch him at the normal time of twenty-to. I open the stairgate and Bernard scrambles up the stairs like a small pyjama-d lizard, bursts into the bedroom, and only comes to a halt at the bed because he hasn’t learned to climb on to it yet. Only a matter of time. Instead, he cruises around to Pete’s side, picks up his glasses – by the arm – from the bedside table, and holds them out. He does this every morning, for whichever one of us is still in bed; it’s a small service that he provides in return for all the arse-wiping. […]

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