To step in dog poop? What about if your kid picks it up and throws it at you?
Let’s go back.
We have this conservation area that snakes it way through the centre of Suburb, and there is an access point near-ish to our new house. There is a pond and we go to look for turtles and ducks and such. And you know, to make HGB walk as much as possible to get tired and sleep until it is light outside not 5:02 a.m. for the love…
Anyway, I took the boys this afternoon. MJB in the Ergo and HGB was sauntering along behind us. We had seen a few turtles, one lone duck, and a whole bunch of Canada geese napping in the pond. We were continuing along the path, HGB trailing behind, looking at everything and talking non-stop when I hear him say “Hey Mum? What’s that? What’s that? What’s that?”
Oh, that?!? That’s just a big old piece of dog turd in your hand, son! HUZZAH.
So, of course, I scream. So, of course, he panics and throws it at me.
Also, I didn’t bring the diaper bag. Frantic hand wiping on grass ensues. No choice but to firmly grip his shitty hand in mine and drag him back to the car to wipe off because if this kid isn’t talking lately, both hands are in his mouth.
ANYWAY. To get back to the car, you have to pass the pond again. This time, a heron was REALLY close, and HGB broke free and climbed up on the railing to wave his shitty hand and whisper sweet nothings to the heron.
And then this happened:
As for the shitty hand, there were no wipes in the diaper bag, OF COURSE, so we made due with a sippy cup of water and some Dairy Queen napkins. (Steering wheel and phone sanitized upon return home because now I think there is poop on everything. Because there is.)