Reincarnation
1
This is a slight reworking of an old post.
If you
consider yourself to be of a delicate disposition you may not wish to read on.
However, if you have ever have had intimate dealings with any kind of mammal
you will understand the rationale for this post. (I'm sure rationale is
far too grand a word for this but I like it . . . )Through
the years of bearing babies and rearing toddlers, followed by decades of
teaching young children, while at the same time breeding cats (and mice, gerbils and guinea pigs) and keeping
company with a variety of dogs, I have come to realise that ordure has played a
significant role in my life.
It was not something I had ever considered when I
was growing up. My sister's babies were neat and clean and cuddly. I realise
now that she was very careful to spare me the truth and only encouraged me to
change wet nappies. Fifteen years older than me, she was always protective.
The first
days of a baby's life open a new mother's eyes – and nose – to a different way
of life. Controlling the urge to throw up over her first-born and overcoming
the desire to turn away and plead for someone else to take over, she learns the
delicate art of cleaning and making comfortable the small helpless being she so
rapturously conceived nine months earlier. The rosy glow of imagining a sweet-smelling
baby dressed in adorable clothes gurgling happily into the beatifically smiling
face of a relaxed and beautiful mother disappears like a hapless, misplaced
snowflake in August.
The mirage is replaced by the reality of a baby that
excretes at least twice what he ingests and 'possets' (that's the polite
term for 'sicks up') several times a day and night over his hands, his
several daily changes of attire, his bed, the furry toy bought on the day of
his birth and any unfortunate adult in the vicinity, usually his exhausted,
sleep-deprived, tearful mother.
Matters
improve of course as the baby grows into toddlerhood. It's always a good idea
to greet your child soon after she wakes and not agree with your spouse that
it's lovely when she amuses herself while you enjoy a lie-in and consider the
possibility of a sibling or two for her.
Undoubtedly, she is entertaining
herself, undressing, removing her nappy, spreading the contents over herself,
the bedding and every other thing within reach (no point in hoping the nappy
will be just wet). Having finished that task, she has set about
deconstructing the cot. It is a little disconcerting when you enter your
precious offspring's room to wonder where she can possibly have got to until
movement under the mattress beneath the base gives you a clue.
When the
little tot plays in the garden, it's quite useful to have a dog about the place
which can be blamed for influencing the child to defaecate on the grass. More
experienced matrons snort derisively as they explain that all infants
do this and follow that information with a knowing and slightly malicious,
'Just you wait . . . '
Sure
enough, worse will follow. At least when nappies are still being worn
everything that leaves the tiny body is more or less contained. Training pants
are the next important stage, but it seems that all your infant is trained to
do is to treat them as a portable potty. Potties are wonderful toys, headwear
being a favourite deployment – not so good after having been used for their
original purpose, though.
Having
finally learnt what to do and where, there is a tiresome period when your
little person must visit every convenience in every building you pass. Possibly
he is searching for the gold standard in lavatories/loos/toilets.
I've been
told that the way to teach a boy to aim straight is to put a ping pong ball in
the lavatory pan and encourage him to hit it with his golden shower. I have not
been told what should happen thereafter. Do they remain in situ for evermore?
The mind boggles. Are parents expected to carry a supply of these white
spheres?
Cats and
dogs present different challenges. House cats that use litter trays are
relatively easy. A scoop removes the soiled litter. Fastidious creatures that
they are, they help their humans to maintain high standards of hygiene, for, if
dissatisfied, they will make their own arrangements and you may be sure it will
be somewhere you would not choose. Cats that have the freedom of the world may often
choose a spot that pleases them but not the gardening neighbours with whom you
once were on friendly terms.
Dogs can
be trained to use a particular patch of the garden, but the excrement remains
where deposited until removed by someone. In our family this job is known as
'de-lumping the garden' and when we had children living at home they could be
persuaded occasionally to undertake this task. At other times I did it. Now
they are grown and flown but we still have dogs and their leavings must be
cleared away. It has fallen to me to take on this duty full-time because, as
Barry says, 'You're so good at it.' Flatterer!
Thus,
after so many years of shovelling s*it I know that, if I were to be
reincarnated I would return as a Chinese Night Soil Collector. It is said that
every third person in the world is Chinese – and I was my parents' third child.
Can't wait!
More irreverent thoughts on reincarnation will follow . . .
