ROLL UP! ROLL UP! SEE THE MY FABULOUS BABY AND HER INCREDIBLE GLITTERY SHIT.
I read some woman talking about mummy bloggers the other day, she said: 'you think that your kids shit glitter'. It made me laugh. Actually I don't think its that true as most mummy writing that I read seems to be only vaguely related to the topic of children. I think most mums these days are too busy twittering to notice what their kiddies poo looks like.
I can see the point of view that mummy writing is either boring or irritating, especially if you're not a mum. In my painful childless years I used to loathe Allison Pearson's special mix of mummy egotism dressed as martydom where ( for some reason I never understood) I was supposed to feel sorry for how tiring her life was when, as far as I was aware, no one forced her to have lots of children, write lots of best selling novels and articles for newspapers and magazines. No doubt Angelina Jolie also gets a bit tired what with her films and kids - not to mention Brad- but at least she doesn't moan in public about her perfect life. I find it hard to feel sorry for women who have what I want.
I can also see that it's easy to fetishise kids these days - obsesively filing all the most ordinary photos of one's ordinary offspring, endlessly recanting personal anecdotes in family blogs, etc. It was different in the past. My mother certainly never thought that I shitted glitter. Not that she would have used the s***word, but she would have appreciated the homemade nature of such shit full of glitter as the stuff in the shops was only for very special occasions when we were children. My mother also always pointedly gave the impression we were terribly ordinary just in case she looked as if she was bragging about us. Or we got the idea that we were special in any way. This might be a good excuse for an inferiority complex but actually I liked her attitude. There's some safety and contentment in being ordinary and in being too run of the mill to be singled out.
I really appreciate that not all about X glitters. Her shit is sometimes just ordinary shit and sometimes it's spectacularly smelly; huge bolders of impressively solid shit. And sometimes her burps are even smellier than her botty burps. She has yellow wax oozing out of her ears and her socks are cheesy too. It's not the first time I've been astounded by the smells of children. As a tutor I frequently had to turn my head at the putrid stench of a child's breath.
But yes, I also do think X glitters. Her moods change like the shifting sands of a tube of glitter. Every time her brain makes a fresh connection an array of sparkles can be seen across her face. And yes, for every sparkle there's also a shadow- it's just the way the light falls. But I'm entranced by how, why and what makes the shadows move and the sparkles twinkle. Frankly, having pushed myself forward to be X's mum I think it would be very sad if I didn't find her interesting if not sparkly. Bu the same is true of any parent who has willingly brought a child into the world. Truthfully I do find X more interesting than most other children because I study her more. But I don't think X senses my interest; she expects her mummy to be interested in her and she knows I think her poo stinks, in fact it makes her laugh when I hold my nose when have to get close to wipe her bottom. And I do enjoy noting down stuff about what she's done. I love celebrating her childhood innocence. Maybe it's because there's no daddy to share the 'guess what she did today' conversation with that I like to write them down. Like today, when asked to put away the clean knives in the drawer she said: 'this knife's clean , I just licked it.'
Isn't that just the cutest glittery shit?
No? Well, tell me about your little ones most sparkly turd today.