A Parent's Step By Step Guide To Getting Through The Squits

So, you're here either because your little bundle of fun has a squitty bum-bums or you are really, really into poo. Well, you may just like a giggle given that you've probably spend the week watching Paw Patrol/watching someone else watch you on the loo/are exhausted from saying, "Just get your coat on!!"

We are having an acute onsite of ball-pitistis here and no, I'm not referring to my husband, but the sudden onset of vomiting and diarrhoea following a toddlers trip to soft play. Now I have finished cursing the other parents of soft play for their irresponsibly viral covered children (though in fairness it could of been the bin my son foraged through that caused this, or the floor he licked...The possibilities are endless in the age group), I will bring to you how you can get through the squits in this step by step satirical guide.

A Step by Step Guide to Getting Through The Squits

The Squits: A melodramatic portrayal

You will need:

  • A source of black baby grows
  • Ample supply of poo bags and air freshener
  • Nappies - no particles kind, they will all leak.
  • Waterproofs
  • The 90 degree spin cycle
  • Spatula
  • 10 pack of wipes (at least two packs in every room)
  • Carpet cleaner
  • Bin bags x 3 
  • Liberal use of Sod's Law
  • Clean hands
  • Resolve
  • Dioralyte
  • Caffeine/Alcohol
  • Someone else
  • One whole midnight bath 
  • More Dioralyte
  • Sleep
  • The week off work

Step One:

Take one child covered in poo. The poo must at least be up their nipples to qualify for true 'squitty-bum-bums' status. De-robe child and consider why there isn't more of a market for black baby grows. There's a heck of a lot of bodily fluids emitted from children - this is clearly an untapped market. Think back to those shared Facebook posts with how those envelope shoulder tabs are just for this kind of shit-uation. Still smear your child's face in poo. Feel guilty for at least a month at your poor parenting abilities.

I'm not sure if this is a picture of me or the baby at this precise moment

Step Two:

Dispose of the package (nappy not the baby). Make a mental note that those 500 nappy bags you bought for 25p will eventually run out and indeed did just that. Use a bag for life and consider the moral conflict of exchanging the bag for another after it has contained this stink-fest.
Spray air freshener and tell every passing guest who seems to drop by at the precise moment, that it wasn't you who made the smell but then invariable seem like the one who smelt it dealt it.

Step Three:

Realise you should have worn waterproofs as round two has commenced and your leg/stomach/shoulder/chin now has diarrhoea leaching up it. Look at nappy packet with scorn - 'Super absorbent' my baby's bum!

Keep going love, it can't get much worse

Step Four:

Shake clothes off child into the washing machine. 
By now, with the thick layer of diarrhoea, they should just slide off but you may find a spatula helps. Consider dropping child in the bath but you have to pick the other one up from pre-school so indulge in a liberal use of 64 wet wipes over the naked child. Use a further pack of wipes to clear up the splash back on the carpets.

Step Five:

Spray some stain remover on all the yellow/green patches on the carpet.
Get distracted by child fingering squidgy contents of yet to be wrapped nappy/ door bell ringing/ another filled nappy and have to reapply stain remover a total of 4 times. 

Step Six:

The bin men will be pleased

Empty bin of it's methanous contents. Remember to double bag after the contents have spilt onto the floor. 
More smells are emerging, this time from you. It appears the 'fallout' from last times bum explosion is down your new white top. Define 'Sod's law' in your mind.
Sling white top into washing machine and adorn a bin bag toga over your sunset smeared parts.

Step Seven:

CLEAN YOUR HANDS. Then think back to the moments you may have touched your mouth and start to feel a bit sicky.
At last bedtime has arrived. Dip child in the bath, dress and hope to god this was just a 24 hour (or less) tummy bug. 

Step Eight:

Ten minutes after they have been put down, a rumble can be heard on the monitor and on the Richter scale. Rush to pick up child only to be covered in vomit. 
Notice a freshly boilled egg scent.
Visualise wine sitting their cool and crisp next to the sofa. 
At this point, you will need resolve. Use it liberally. 

There you are beautiful 

Step Nine:

Send husband out for dioralyte. Curse self for sending husband out of Poopville into the relative sanctity of the supermarket where there is slightly less faeces adorning the floors.  
Then spend one hour getting 1 ml into child. 

Step Ten:

Welcome husband back as he brings wine.
Curse him again as he remembers important 'meeting' and swiftly exits just as the baby monitor screams. Realise there should be a market for a 'Squit Nanny', whilst mourning the wine all on its lonesome downstairs in front of the paused TV screen. 
Pick up baby who has been marinading in bum chocolate which has self basted through two layers of clothing and a sleep sack. 

Time to suit up...it's going to get mortal 

Run bath. Run after naked poo covered child. Dispatch into bath. Fill with diorolyte. Observe the paranormal gut sounds and grit teeth for a long night.
Breath sigh of relief and fresh air for once. 

Step Eleven:

'Attempt' to sleep after some dicking about on phone time and lugging of now warm glass of wine.
Repeat step ten but with using the express wet wipe bathing system as detailed in step four.

Step Twelve:

Dream of a week off work. No wait, you have the week off work - this week is your annual leave....but now you have a rumbling in your tummy....oh shhhi...

Up shit creak without a paddle?


If you would like more healthy humour and not so helpful satirical guides, then 'av a browse of my other shizzle. I am excellent at telling other people what to do with slight authority but below par at containing my own children. I blame the parents. 



  1. I'm so pleased this is all behind me, a very humorous reminder! #TwinklyTuesday

    1. Well if you don't laugh, you cry...no actually you just write about it on a blog - just like this!

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