03 January, 2012

The Great Pooscape.

This morning saw us preparing for a visit to Himself in Soho. The weather wasn't particularly auspicious, but although Madam is made of spun sugar (or spice, or something else nice) her predilection for the shower proves that she doesn't melt, so we headed out wrapped in light layers and armed with an umbrella. Which proved completely useless.

I don't mind wind. It's flown many a kite for me in the past. I don't mind rain. It's good for my flowers. Singly, neither wind nor rain offend me in the slightest. It's when they gang up on me that I get disgruntled. By the time we made it to the tube station I'd given up on the umbrella because I got tired of stopping to turn it right side out again.

The first half of the journey on the tube was completely uneventful. Well, uneventful in the normal scheme of things... Madam always collects adulation as her rightful due, so soppy faces/noises only dogs can hear and questions about her age are fielded with ease. She slept, I read, all was well. Then, from the nether regions of Herself came rumblings. The sort of rumblings that mean business. You know, the sort that are followed up by suspiciously liquid sounds. Oh yeah, she let it go. Apparently, halfway through a journey that usually runs an hour and a half is the optimal time to clear her entire digestive system.

So now I had a decision to make. Do I get off the train in the hopes of finding a changing facility, or do I wait until we get to the office and trust that her nappy wrap will contain the badness? I wavered through two stops, but as we were approaching Hammersmith (an area of town in which I lived/nannied for long enough to know every single free bathroom available) I decided to err on the side of caution. Turns out that was a wise move.

By the time we reached the changing facilities in Mothercare, not only had she had time to have a leisurely squish around in the mess, she'd managed to squeeze it out the leg of her nappy and down the side of her trousers. Luckily, Mothercare has sinks conveniently located next to each changing station. Not only did I rinse off the nappy wrap to be dried on the radiator at Himself's office (don't tell his assistant, she'd freak), I rinsed her trousers and dried them under the hand dryer. Yes, yes I did. And I can't imagine how bad it would have been if we'd waited until we arrived in Soho to deal with it.

Adventures in motherhood. And she's still my favourite person. Go figure. *grin*

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