The wayward nugget

Her feet are kicking.  Her shoulders are trying desperately to wiggle out from under my hand and pop up so she can turn over.  Her torso is turns into a super bendy wiggle worm.  All extremities are flailing as I try my hardest to keep her laying down on the change mat, her feet away from her pooey bottom.  One hand is busy holding her down, the other trying to keep her feet away from poo as well as moving the pooey nappy away from her.  And then it happens.  A nugget is accidentally set free.  It rolls out of the nappy and onto the change mat.  Feet are flailing.  They narrowly escape turning an interesting shade of browney-green.  I dodge the flailing extremities and go in with a wipe.  Oh no, the wayward nugget escapes me and falls on the floor.  I can’t look for it now, there is a flailing baby with her bare pooey bottom hanging out laying (unwillingly) on top of a table.  No, I have to finish with Hannah first, then go in search of the wayward nugget.  Ok, Hannah’s bottom is clean, bottom creamed, nappied, and pantsed (is that a word?  Oh well, now it is).  I look under the table.  No sign of the nugget.  Bugger, where has it gone?  How far can a poo nugget roll?  What if Hannah finds it first?  Will she try to eat it?  Will she try to squish it in her pudgy little baby hands?  I can’t find it anywhere.  Inside, I’m freaking out a little.  The search continues.  It doesn’t help that the 70s/80s carpet is poo brown.  I can’t vacuum, that probably wouldn’t fare so well for the vacuum itself.   Freak out continues.  I peer under the freestanding fin oil heater.  The wayward nugget stares right back at me.  I can almost hear it laughing.  I move the heater, go in with a wipe, and finally, the wayward nugget is contained.   Who knew that motherhood would include elusive hide and seek games with wayward nuggets?  Not me.