Yep, you guessed it – another blog about poo. My apologies.
I will try to bring the tone out of the gutter at some stage but until the boys start writing poetry or conducting opera (which they'll definitely do, by the way) I'm limited to writing about what they give me. And at the moment that's a whole load of bootycakes.
It was suggested for us to keep a diary of our boy’s bowel movements at an anti-natal class a while back. This was a specialist twin session at the Liverpool Women's Hospital which was really useful. Run by midwives who either had twins or were twins themselves, they also brought two twin mums in who'd given birth at the hospital a few years ago.
They said the diary was to make sure you could monitor if one twin hadn't been for a while, as the tiredness that would inevitably fall upon us like a poorly erected tent would make it even harder to keep track, especially with two of the little fudge machines doing their worst.
So in preparation my wife bought me a beautiful leather bound book with 'The Avery Poo Diaries' engraved on. It made me laugh for about a fortnight.
Although actually, the word diary is misleading as it’s much more of a log book to be honest, in more ways than one.
These are our first few entries:
7.30am Big seedy poo
11.30am Small seedy poo
3.30pm B.S.P. (Big Seedy Poo)
7.30pm Mustard poo with wee
11.30pm Big, big poo. Ridiculously big really.
3.30am Mainly piss, specks of shit
7.30am He pooed AT me. Pretty sure it was intentional. Jesus
11.30am 1 x small turd
3.30pm Poo, wee, sick. A dirty hatrick.
It's hardly Bridget Jones is it?. And I certainly wouldn't want to see the film adaptation, although I’m sure Hugh Grant would be up for it.
But the weirdest bit isn’t even when you start diligently filling in an actual 'Poo Diary.' No, the strangest feeling is when you do it for long enough that it actually starts to feel normal.
Now, that is weird.