It’s not easy being a step-dad.
It just isn’t.
In my first serious pondering about the difficulties of being a stepdad, I was stressing and pondering about the name that Griffin uses to address me. That was a really traumatic experience for me at the time even though it was more of a psychological problem than the reason for today’s post: Poo.
For those of you who are already father’s you’ll know about how your child started out as nothing more than and eating, sleeping, crying and shitting machine. Dad’s who have had the good fortune to watch their child grow from new born status get very quickly inducted into the world of handling poo without vomiting.
This status is not quite as readily bestowed upon those of us who have become dad’s by marriage alone.
I mean, I became Griffin’s father when Emma and I fell in love two years ago.
I became his best friend the minute we started living together.
I became his dad about a year later.
He became my son in a much shorter space of time as I realized just how much I had wanted children, even though I had spent most of my adult life avoiding them.
So to recap, I am his dad and he is my son.
So what’s the big deal about poo?
Its very simple really.
Every now and then Griffin has an “accident” in his pants. Yes, you know the kind. It frequently falls on me to get his soiled clothes off, wipe him down, clean him up and get him into fresh clothes.
Any seasoned parent is wondering what the big deal is round about here.
I am a step dad. I never had the benefit of years of smelling, touching and handling the poo of my tiny helpless little baby, so I do gag a little when I have to grab a steaming little pile of moist poo. Even through the toilet paper I can feel its consistency and I retch a little. All the while I have my bravest “I am your dad and am afraid of NOTHING!” face on, trying to hide from him the fact that my germophobic nature just cannot ignore the fact that my hands are pulling poo out of his pants.
get him cleaned up, no problem, but the cleaning of his pants after he has gone outside to play again is even worse potential puking territory.
It would be unfair of me (not to mention unhygienic and gross) to put his dirty pants aside and wait for Emma to come home to clean them, so I do what any parent does naturally. I wash them.
Maybe my big mistake was not getting out the old rubber gloves, but hey, smelly poo in my hands I was not thinking straight I just DO. Thanks Nike, you ruined my life!
Anyways, after all of this I never actually vomited which brings me right back to what today’s post is about.
You know you’re a dad when your son who rides motorbikes with you, who plays fighting with you, who fights and cries and does everything with you, turns to YOU to help him sort out a smelly and embarrassing problem.
Yes, that’s Griffin riding his motorbike again. Thanks to Stephano who took off the carburettor and cleaned the damned thing! Spring has sprung and the long summer of outdoor activity begins again in earnest!
Life in Wales is amazing.
Being a dad is even more so