Now that everyone is home safe from the hospital and both baby and mum are doing well, I think enough time has passed that I can safely share some tales from our first week with our new addition, without risking a post-partum Roobs taking a hospital issued Spork and driving it up to the nib in my eyeball.
You may think that’s an over-reaction, but you’d be surprised how angry new mums can get when you tell the world about how they managed to get a newborn baby that wasn’t theirs blamed for dropping a fart like a malfunctioning car horn at two in the morning..
You see, it’s ACTUALLY the hospitals’ fault for feeding her so well while she was laid up in the cramped ward, with little more than a thin curtain separating her and the other mums who were laid up recovering from having their nethers torn asunder.
Poor Roobs has had little to no appetite for the last few weeks, grazing occasionally on Digestive biscuits or scabby bits of toast for sustenance. However, now that our wee girl is out in the world her taste for food has come crawling back, ensuring she made hasty work of smashing her way through the hot bowl of stovies and tatties that was delivered to her bedside by the hospital staff.
The thing is though if your diet has been so limited for an extended period of time, suddenly throwing some starchy and fat-coated goodies down your gullet is only going to cause the fart reactors to go into meltdown. Sure enough, several hours later in the darkness of night, Roobs lay in the quiet ward behind her thin curtain, not a sound to be heard other than the gurgle of snoring babies and the quiet moans of their shattered mothers. Well that, and the sound of poor Roobs fighting to release the near 16 bar of stinky air pressure from her exit pipe as quietly and as slowly as possible.
Sadly, she was neither of those things, as the fart mushroom cloud smashed its way through the material of the horrendous granny pants I’d ironically bought for her earlier that day, and near ripped the adjoining curtain off the hooks between her and the poor lass in bed one with her newborn in the crib beside her.
“Oh.. Oh good lord, was.. Was that you baby?” the poor startled mother in bed one mumbled in the darkness as she tried to sleepily determine whether or not her newborn child had just spontaneously exploded. The Roobs of course remained motionless while the curtains finally settled from their dance around her, fake snoring like a champion to elude suspicion for the turbo fart that had just near set off the sprinkler system.
Once ‘Bed One’ realized that her beautiful new child hadn’t just fired its internal organs into orbit, everyone settled and finally found some much-needed sleep before they were plagued by visitors the next day.
Which is exactly when The Destroyer and myself looked on confused when The Roobs suddenly burst into a fit of giggles in front of us shortly after we’d arrived sporting chocolatey goods and spare undercrackers.
As we were getting settled down bedside, the Roobs had overheard Bed One excitedly tell her husband and mother about how the baby had farted so explosively the night before, she was pretty sure it was responsible for the water jug falling off the drawers by her bed and soaking her fluffy designer slippers.
Of course, rather than admit guilt for near setting off several car alarms in the road outside the night before, she let this poor other mother move on with her life thinking that her beautiful new child had a back end like a well-used farmers shotgun loaded with buckshot..
In all honesty, I’ve rarely been more proud.