And You Thought Your Child Was Hard to Handle?

by admin

And You Thought Your Child Was Hard to Handle?

I’ve been keeping an unofficial list called, “Things I’ve Found in Bruiser’s Mouth.” It includes whole almonds. Moss from a potted plant. A tiny, opened hair clip. Various crumbs from off the floor. A doll shoe. Oh. And poo.

That’s right. Poo.

It was just yesterday that the unthinkable happened. When I went collect Bruiser from his crib after a nap, he was sitting with his back to me, totally absorbed, playing with something. And then he looked over at me, his deeply contented grin ringed with …



My baby was eating POO!

It was like a scene from a horror movie. Poo was everywhere. Everywhere!

I snatched him up and started scrubbing him down with wet wipes, cursing under my breath. Once I’d gotten the poo off his face, I began cleaning his mouth out with wipes, one after another. Each one came out tinged with brown.

(Let’s pause for a moment until your dry heaving subsides. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Okay. You good?)

Once I had gotten rid of the worst of it, I plunked him down naked on the floor and stripped his poo-ridden crib of its sheets. When I turned back to him a few seconds later, he had a funny look on his face.

“Oh hell no,” I muttered, grabbing a wipe and sticking a covered finger into his mouth. Out came a clear plastic lid from a vending toy. This child was clearly sent to this earth TO PUNISH ME.

“How’s it going?” Hubs asked on the phone about fifteen minutes later, after Bruiser had gotten a thorough kitchen sink de-pooing and sanitization.

“Uh, not good,” I said. “Bruiser ate his own poo.”

“Oh my God,” he said. “What did the doctor say?”

“I didn’t call the doctor.”


“I mean, babies have been eating poo for thousands of years,” I reasoned, “and it’s not like a big issue. There aren’t public service campaigns that say, like, ‘Poo. It’s what’s not for dinner.’ There aren’t news stories about babies dying from eating their own poo, or studies about how eating poo affects your IQ.”

“That’s true,” Hubs said. “Okay.”

Still, once we’d hung up, I Googled “My baby ate poo!” just to be on the safe side. What I saw relieved me. There were hundreds of screechy posts on parenting and medical forums, and hundreds more responses assuring the panicked mom that visits to the ER were unnecessary, that the baby would probably be fine, that everyone knew someone who’d eaten their own poo, generally when they were small.

But as you can imagine, Bruiser’s culinary adventure was the talk of the Ferrier household last night.

“Wow. He’s the first Ferrier child to eat his own poo. This is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.”

“It really gives new meaning to the term, ‘shit-eating grin,’ doesn’t it?”

“Well from the looks of it, it was chock full of carrots. And he does love carrots … ”

I also knew, of course, that I would have to blog about it. I mean, this isn’t the kind of thing I can keep to myself. Yet I feel a bit guilty. Will this some day come back to haunt him? The fact that he ate his own poo and I shared it with the world? Am I ruining his chances to become a Supreme Court Justice? Or … President of the United States?

Because I have a feeling that “Sources tell us that as a child, Senator John McCain ate his own poo,” for example, would absolutely have an impact on McCain’s chances …

I’m just sayin’.