So this week I picked my 21 month old Incredible Hulk up from nursery to be told he’d had a wonderful time playing in the sandpit, he’d taken all his favourite cars in there with him and he was in there for quite some time, happy as larry apparently. We don’t have a sandpit, what a marvellous sensory experience this is for him, I think to myself, smiling smugly about the fact that he’s had fun and I don’t have to clear up the mess.
I got home and told Mr Mess, Stress and Fancy Dress about The Hulk’s day at nursery. We made fabulous middle class comments about how beneficial the whole experience would be to his general well being and patted ourselves on the back for selecting such a marvellous and varied nursery environment for him to grow and develop in. All was well. Until……. the sand-poos began, they continued for 36 hours. I’m astonished there was any sand left in the sandpit. Three days of granular poos later, and one rather sore bottom but no lesson will have been learnt. He’s got previous. In his 21 short months on this planet, my little human pac man has already enjoyed the following delicacies;
- Worm. Well, half a worm. I’d like to think he tried the worm and then spat half out, but in reality he probably got distracted half way through eating it and forgot to finish.
- Shoes. If you are convinced that ice lollies are just too cold and not for you, what better thing to lick than the sole of one of this seasons finest Clarks offerings. Preferably with a large coating of mud so you get a nice brown moustache.
- Compost. Potting some plants? Bucket full of compost and a little shovel? I’m not overly interested in using cutlery at dinner time Mummy, but more than happy to scoop up some compost on this little trowel, and shove the whole lot in my mouth.
- Happy land men. Who knew a little mouth could in fact accommodate an entire man?
- His own shit. You’d hope he would have grown out of this by now, but he loves nothing more than having a little root around as you open the tabs on the nappy. Before you can say gastroenteritis, the dirty brown hand of doom will be straight in his mouth and a smug smile flashes accross that cheeky little face.
- Cabbage. As if.
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