Thursday, June 7, 2012

Pregnancy parps revisited - not such a LITTLE stinker!

*Definition of a parp: A term used for a pregnancy fart, which first became popular in the blog: not one for the FAint heaRTED - let em rip! 

Only minutes ago I left poor Papa bear stranded in a room engulfed with a most potent baby poop and parp* perfume blend.

Oh Daddy forgive me....           

See, it's his birthday today, and only yesterday did he suffer from some flash in the pan voracious virus that had him spewing from both ends! Bad enough to take off work and spend many hours in bed - or on the potty!

He blamed it on the bacon I fried up yesterday morning - at least the smell of which turned his tummy in the first place - but it couldn't have been the culprit of the nasty bouts of diarrhea and vomit he had to endure well into the afternoon.

And no-one else paid that high a price for its greasy goodness!

So tonight, after leaving my littlest snuggled up tight in Momma's bed, I sought out the birthday boy and our eldest son who were already slogging through the bedtime routine.

Big kid was sitting on the pot beside his Choo-Choo bed - his number one spot for doing a number two - and Daddy was sitting in front, courageously reading whatever book big kid required to get his 'jobby' done.

Smiling at the romantic but rancid little scene before me, I squatted down behind them and put my arms around Daddy to give him a birthday kiss and cuddle - believe me, none of what happened next was premeditated...

I reached out both hands to my eldest, who'd exclaimed 'Mommy!' in the most loving manner, as he does every night when I join them in his room.

Without getting up off the pot he held his arms out to be included in Mommy and Daddy's hug. I squeezed his hands lovingly while leaning against Daddy.

It was a beautifully mushy moment - broken abruptly by our kid farting a bit more poop out.

It couldn't have been better comedic timing - and without thinking I responded in the same language! I'm not sure which was funnier; Daddy's disgust or the look of wonder on my 2 year old.

Oh but it burned, and I knew straight away we were all in trouble, so I hastened my retreat.

"...  err.... on that note, I'll love you and leave ya....'

It was too hard to contain my guilty laughter, and Daddy knew, even before those teeny tiny poop particles made their way up his already nauseated nostrils.

I had to use Daddy to push my heavy load up from the floor, and the fast dispersing aroma had already hit my level by the time I was standing - poor Daddy was still way down in the concentrated thick of it.

What with his wife's whiffy wind-breaking and his eldest son's air-exposed excrement, it was all too much for Daddy's tentative tummy, and he started gagging involuntarily!

It was a raucous race to the door where preggo Mommy mercilessly blocked Daddy's attempted escape, laughingly locking us all inside the room in order to fully appreciate the fabulousness of the fart - meanwhile big kid was in fits of giggles on his potty, unfazed by the power of Mommy's parp!

That birthday steak was something else, and what my pregnant body was able to do with it in a little over an hour was literally breath-taking!

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