It’s hard work being a baby…

A day in the life of a baby…

When I fart I get a round of applause. That’s right, people actually clap and smile when I fart. I also get praise, “Ooooh, that was a good one! I bet that feels better, you poor little thing.”

Grand ma is the best though, “did you do pop-pops in your nappy?” she asks, smiling and cheering me on.

Lady, I farted. It’s hardly a miracle, I do it all the time. Heck, Grand Pa does it all the time and you never congratulate him. He only ever gets the evil eye and a threat to plug his hole up with a brick or your foot. It’s wind …that’s all it is, wind. Get a grip. But it seems to make her happy, so I smile and giggle and go along with it for her sake.

You should see what they do when I crap myself, particularly if it’s a loud, squelchy kind of pooh. They fall over themselves to tell me how clever I am to have filled my nappy.  It’s hardly rocket science – input and output.

“Oooooh, that sounded wet!” says mum. “Good boy.”

Really?  That impresses you?  Well, Mum, today’s your lucky day because there’s plenty more where that came from, thanks to last night’s pureed pears and apricots. Just wait until you get a load of this.  I take a deep breath, puff out my cheeks, bear down and pull that face – immense concentration, brute strength and anticipation of blessed relief all rolled into one.  Mona Lisa, you’ve got nothing on me. If Leonardo had have seen me first, no one would have to ‘wonder’ what I’m thinking when he painted me because we’d all recognise the look.

The sounds are horrendous and are in no way muffled by my nappy. I don’t know what’s fighting to get out first, the gasses or the solids, but whatever’s happening down there, it smells worse than Weribee and Altona put together. But it sure is warm.

“Go little mate,” says Grandpa. “Give it all you’ve got.”

Grand ma hits him and says, “stop it Dave, give the little man some privacy will you?”

Privacy? Well, if they’re going to tune out then I’ll have to start with the sound effects– the grunting and groaning.

“Hhhhhhhhhggggggggggggggggpppppphhhhhhhh,” I groan.

They all turn around and look at me. Grand pa is laughing and Grand ma looks as though I’ve just won Olympic gold. But it’s working, I’ve got their attention.

“Hhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrgggghhhhhhhhhh!”  I groan again.

Grand pa is crying with laughter and Grand ma is bending down to me, her hands clasped in prayer position and a village idiot grin slapped on her face.

Time to change facial expression – a bit of variety never hurts and always adds to the show. I close my eyes and collapse into a deep squint.


I open one eye to see that Grand pa’s  tears are streaming down his face and his skin is a deep red. Grandma is still cheering me on and Dad has just cracked open another beer and is toasting me.

“That’s my boy!” he says.

Will he be saying the same thing in two years time when I am supposed to be toilet trained? Probably not.

Time for the grand finale.

I clench both hands into angry little fists and shake them like rattles, squint so hard that my eyebrows are touching my cheeks, raise both knees to my chest and bear down one last time.


Everyone is in hysterics.


The warmth is now spreading up the small of my back. It’s kind of nice – warm and soft, like a big liquidy pillow.

Time to see how far I can make it spread. The record was up to the chest of my jumpsuit last week. In time I’d like it to reach just as far in the other direction too – a proper neck to toes is the ultimate goal.


Dad’s now got his camera going and is zeroing in on me, mum’s still washing veggies in the background, Grandma is in raptures and Grand pa is on his way to a brain annuerism. Time to stop. I don’t want to hurt the old fella. Besides, I’m spent.  Being so hilarious is absolutely exhausting. Also, the pooh is starting to cool down now and doesn’t feel like a pillow anymore. Now it just feels like cold pooh.

“I’ll change him,” says Grand ma.

“No, Mum,” says my dad. “ I couldn’t do that to you, whatever he’s done in there isn’t going to be pretty. I’ll do it.”

“No,really. I don’t mind. Let me do it, I never get to change his nappy.”

See what I mean – they’re fighting over who gets to clean my shit! What kind of messed up people are they?

Grandma finally wins and picks me up.

“Oh!” she says. “It’s a good one! All the way up to his armpits,” she says, holding me at a distance to her body.

Yesss! First part of my goal attained. You are the man!

“And down to his knees!”

Knees? Are you sure? Check again.

I kick my legs around a bit to help gravity do its thing. Come on, that was a superbaby effort – it’s got to reach past my knees.

“Oh no…hang on!” she pauses as she lays be back down on the change mat and undoes my jumpsuit. “It’s hit his feet! He’ll need a shower or bath.”

Whoo- hoo! Yeah baby! If it were appropriate, I’d punch my fist in the air and get up and do a little celebratory jig. Victory and a new PB. Now it’s time for a relaxing shower, a bottle and a bit if kip, if my adoring public can bear to part with me.  It’s hard work being a baby.


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