The result of cleaning up faecal matter every day for four years is olfactory havoc. This morning as I chucked a few toys in the twins' room I wandered through a mist of minute shit particles. Sniffing, I attempted to locate the offending nuggets whilst discerning from the smell whether I would be dealing with a dry pile of pebbles or a carpet clinging sludge. The aromatic trail led me under twin1's bed where I found a cloud of baby wipes wafting their arse cleansing chemicals into the air. I looked around for anything more sinister. Nothing. The rush of relief was marred by the jolt of realising I now find it impossible to distinguish between the smell of baby wipes and shit. To be fair, shit always smells like shit. But now baby wipes smell of shit too.
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