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Last week Miles pooped while having a bath with me and the pig. I’m not sure what was more depressing – finding myself suddenly in a poop-infested tub, or realising that I didn’t actually care that much. Come parenthood, “It’s only vomit” is a necessary attitude to survival; “It’s only urine” is passable; but when you get to the stage of thinking “It’s only poop”, you have crossed some sort of line. You will probably never wear mascara again.
Also, I have two questions.
1. If you were a ten-year-old child, would you rather lose both legs and your sense of smell, or both parents? I asked an impromptu* panel that, and the results were.. interesting.
2. Would you willingly die that all the fish might live?
*Reluctant is probably a better word.