Things did not start out well when, at 6am, I was greeted by snot and sneezing. Sick dogs. Sick kids. Husband infested with man flu. The full 9 yards of what the fuck, family.

As bedtime rolled around, dark day of sickness coming to an end,  I knowingly eyed my clebratory bottle of $20 wine. Soon, my pretty….

 I sang,  I soothed, medicated and I tickled. I administrated the full man flu  dose of placebo paracetamol given as “Those really strong hospital grade pain killers from Africa”.

All was quite. All was still. god was a good, good god.

As I silently sat, white knuckles gleefully clasping the smudged glass of my third wine,  bare hand-mauling cake straight from the cake stand, I thought I heard a faint whisper from the toddler quarters. NOOOOO. a faint groan. JESUS FUCK. a louder moan  of ” my buum” .  FUCK THE COLD WAR.

I cursed the cobbles of Slovenia and began the trek. All went quite. PLEASE. I solemnly pray, holding my breath and clenching my keegles. When suddenly from the darkness comes a primal scream “MY BUUM IS SOOORE”. JERUSALEM, JEHOVAH AND JEDDDIDAH.

My heart sinks. I try to soothe the toddler whilst he vehemently thrusts his Butt up and down on the bed, much like a mildly entertaining prodigy of a Miley Cyrus video. Bad Miley. Not Hippy Miley.  Definitely not Disney Miley.  I try to touch it. Bum slams into the bed and toddler gives out a scream so blood curdling, i’m genuinely surprised it was not followed by a rabid bite. Moooooom. My buum, my bum. MY BUUUM!  I plead with him, using my finger. Where!  Where is it sore?  Your butt cheek? upper thigh? Your actual anus? Deep inside your rectum? TELL ME HOW TO SAVE YOU, CHILD.  I have not heard such sounds outside of the porn industry and slasher movies rated so R18 that not even the 25 year olds’ will attempt to watch them. Finally he sleeps after 90 minutes of rage. It sleeps on me. With butt in the air. Atop bare butt is a hot wheatey bag. I finally am able to consult google with my 4 spare fingers. After 20 seconds it becomes blindingly clear that the world is not as it should be. Horror tales of flashlights, sticky tape and moving creatures inside small holes of other creatures.  I cannot accept this. I will not accept this.

After another round of torture,  I know what I need to do. Mother google does not lie. At precisely  12.48am I awaken slumbering husband from his paracetamol coma with images of butt worms. I arm him with a torch. There is nothing  like going on a worm safari in your toddlers butt with your husband on your 33rd birthday. Nothing quite like it, friends. What we saw will never leave my mind. I will not be able to un-see what we saw that night. If you have watched the scene in snatched where Amy Schumer has a tape worm removed from her mouth. You know the one that you giggle at, but think really, that’s a bit too far. A little fucking far fetched and gross, even for you Searchlight Studios. Yes, that scene.  You can start to paint yourself a nice little picture. A start on what is etched in my brain. I love words too much to try and use them to describe this situation. I will never be able to enjoy butts again. Not even Nicky Minaj’s sweet booty bouncing up and down in a jungle can make me look at  butts in a positive light. I have been butt-ruined.

*This post was not sponsored by butt worm medicine. But it should be.