Timing

Dearest firstborn son,

Thank you SO much for coating your entire bottom half in hellish-smelling, khaki-coloured poop, exactly three-and-a-half minutes before we had to leave the house to catch Daddy’s train. It took the combined efforts of two adults and thirty baby wipes before you were clean enough for the car seat. The bit where you put your foot back in the nappy swamp right at the end was an especially exciting twist.

I have no idea how to deal with babygros that look like you’ve been wearing them while rolling around in a pigsty. But I think a bath may be in order for both of us.

With love,

Your mother.

Terrible things have happened in here.

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