Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s just projectile poop and vomit.

So this little cutie has turned three months. In all honesty, I do not know where the time has gone. It feels like just yesterday, we had brought her home and were completely perplexed by how to look after this tiny bundle that had a serious pair of lungs on her from birth. One of the biggest adjustments that you seem to get the quickest at dealing with from the get-go is the poonados and endless amount of spit-up that seems to come out these tiny beings with a force that I did not even realise was possible.

Prior to Alice's birth, I would change my outfit if I dropped some make up on it or spilt some food or drink onto it. If I got toothpaste in my hair (something that happened much more frequently than you would think), I would wash it out in the sink then re-dry it. Oh how those days have passed. Within the first month I had lost count the amount of time that I had been peed on, thrown up on, and laughed as my husband got poonado-ed on as retribution for my daily struggle with Alice's bodily functions that could easily have been confused with bio-warfare. In one instance, she had managed to transform herself into something that resembled the Bellagio fountains as a stream of pee shot over the changing table (that we have on top of a dresser), covering me and the floor but miraculously missing her entirely. I'm not going to lie, part of me seriously considers that she knew what she was doing as revenge for attempting to change her nappy. How did I deal with this afterwards? I remained in those baby urine soaked clothes for two hours. Why – you non-newborn parents ask in horror – I'll tell you why, because my SuperSoaker of a daughter then needed to be calmed down from the trauma that was having herself cleaned and dressed (I know, I'm a cruel mother by ensuring she doesn't just sit in her own filth) by being bribed with breastmilk before the usual fight to try and get her to nap set in. The best part of it all, when the attack happened, I just sort of stood there and shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

That's the thing, as a parent of a bubba, this is the new norm. Long gone are the days of changing outfits that may have had a slight mark that really only you noticed. Now if I change my outfit it's because she has completely drenched it in all the breastmilk she decided she wanted to try and match her own body weight with, and I can't really move with it at that density. Other than that, I look at it and think 'Well there's only going to be more of that at some point.'

So here are some top poonado and other bodily function joys I have experienced in my three months of being a parent so far:

1) The ultimate poonados: These are the ones that are so epic they escape the prison of their nappies and shoot up your baby's back, legs, feet and any other crook and cranny they can fit into. For me, these experiences mainly seem to happen when we are out. Of course. There is a new level of challenge when there has been a full poo explosion and you are desperately trying to clean your entire child in a tiny M&S bathroom as she screams as if the world is crumbling around her. It is only made better when she rolls off the dirty nappy, covers the changing mat, then rolls around in it like a dog, all whilst she screams at the top of her lungs. How did I manage to rectify this situation? Firstly, by sticking one hand in the automatic hand dryer the sound stopped her crying, whilst using the other to reach any part of her with the wet wipe I can. Realising that the wet wipes are not doing the job, I then decide it'll just be quicker to clean her poo covered body by washing her in the sink with hand soap. Brilliant – one clean baby, but she's begun screaming again as she thought she was getting a bath and then was cruelly snatched from the water and dried by toilet paper rather than her soft towels. This results in her stress peeing, covering the one tiny area of the changing mat that remained clean from the poonado, and means that she's back in the sink again. After this, with no changing mat, the large muslin you forgot you had comes out to dry her and finally battle her into her third outfit change of the day. What you thought would be a 10min nappy changed into a 45min battle with your traumatised baby, where you re-emerge from the bathroom with a wild look in your eye, sweating, and scratch marks your face caused by a displeased bub. To top it all off, I had yellow nails for about a week afterwards no matter what I used or how hard I scrubbed to get rid of it. Who knew that baby poo had such a powerful dye ability?

2) Projectile vomit that makes you realise The Exorcist was not over-exaggerating: So this story is actually where the name of my blog originates from. Wow. I did not realise just how much milk could come back up from such a small being and that it could reach the distances that it could. Thank God, for me this was just something that seemed to happen mainly in the first month but it has left me with some memories that I don't think will ever leave me. The most memorable one was one evening when Alice kept wanting to feed, when really it was probably she just wanted the comfort but didn't need the milk. At the time, I thought she was going through a growth spurt, what I did not realise was she was saving it up to create an impressive display of milk spewage. So half an hour after her feed, we are in her bouncy chair and she is playing with her toys. It was lovely. As I picked her up, she let it all go. My mistake – I had not done up my top from the last feed. Yep, she filled my bra with her milk vomit. The entire bra. It was soaked through and marginally filled up. She also managed to cover herself in it as well. I was a little shell-shocked after it happened, I've never seen such a fountain come out and aimed at me, but instead of dealing with myself, the husband and I got her into the bath, changed into her bed clothes at which point I had partially forgotten that my bra was dripping cold milk vom onto my stomach. Lovely.

3) The crunch that comes from baby-pee dry hair: Yep, that's a familiar sound to me now. When I found out my best friend was having a baby boy, six weeks after me, I laughed that she'll have to deal with fountains of pee shooting towards her. I remained smug in my naivety that with a girl, I would not have such situations. Oh how very wrong I was. There has been many a time now that Alice has surprised me with the sheer force she can shoot pee out at and how it generally seems to reach my hair. Even if it's tied up. Oh how I laugh at my past self as I do my nightly brush of my hair to hear the crunch of dried pee in it. Now I'm beginning to wonder if there is a way I can use it to style my hair?

What stories do you have of dealing with emergency poonados, going out covered in spit-up that you didn't realise was there, or any other amusing moments with your bub that you did not expect prior to their arrival? Here's hoping it's not just me!

S.

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