I was told by one of my lovely fellow readers/sympathizers, that if I'm going to post anything shocking, I should put a picture of a kitty on my blog first. That way, if I need to talk about something gross, or if I want to post a more shocking photo, nobody will be horrified and offended, because if my post shows up in their list, the kitty will be the happy icon that goes with it. Heh Heh...
Okay, well enjoy this for a moment then:
Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle...that damn techno cat cracks me up every time...
But we're not talking about kitties.
WARNING: THIS POST IS ABOUT POOP. FECES. TURDS. STOOLS. LOGS. CRAP. KA KA. Now don't get all squeamish on me; everyone poops. Everyone. Since I became a Mom, poop has become one of the most important topics in my sad, sad little world.
Mothers are all obsessed with poop at some point--namely, baby poop. It's the barometer of how well your little person is doing. Did he/she poop today? How much did he/she poop? What was the colour of it? Was it really solid, or was it loose? What does it mean if it's greenish???
With both kids I was obsessed with poop. If one of the babies didn't provide one during the day, I'd pretend I was fine with it, but it would be on the back of my mind all day. If they still hadn't gone by the next day, I'd be starting to get even more worried. What they don't mention in all those (stupid) helpful little handbooks is how the introduction of solid food into a baby's diet will bring the whole digestive/bowel workings to a grinding HAULT. When Jack started eating solid food, the longest he went without pooping was 12 days. He was otherwise happy, but I was freaking out. I was giving that kid prune juice, trying to boost the fruit to cereal ratio, giving him extra drinks...and then on the 12th day, when I was at my wit's end, and sobbing, it came. It filled then overflowed that diaper. I've never been so happy.
Baby Ella would dupe The Man and I so often, we should actually have been ashamed of ourselves. She'd fill up her little diaper, and we'd lay her down on the change table. "Are you all finished?" we'd coo at the wriggly baby. We'd wait for a minute or two, and then decide that surely she was all done with her business. Then we'd open that diaper up, clean her little bum till it was all pink and shiny again, and then:
PA POW POW BLAM Do you know how many diapers we went through changing that girl's bum? She had excellent fire power too. One time I had her on the change table, and she was squirming and squirming when suddenly
She fired out poop with such force that it hit the wall nearly two feet ahead of her, and ran down right to the floor. Luckily she was breastfeeding at the time still. All of you fellow breasties will know that breast milk poo poo is better than formula poo poo. It's less smelly by far. Unluckily though, it was still poop. When her little body exploded, I actually screamed and jumped backward. It was shocking. Then I stood and had to stare at the horror on the wall in stunned silence for a few minutes. Or was I standing there in AWE?!?
Either way, even though cleaning it sucked, it made me happy.
Because she wasn't constipated.
I was obsessed with the contents of the diaper. If The Man happened to be changing the diaper, sometimes I'd yell over to him: "did he/she poop?" If they did, invariably I'd find myself running upstairs to inspect the diaper for quality/quantity. I would be disappointed if I missed out on that poopy diaper, if it occurred when I was out, and the kid had been a little irregular for a few days. I'd never get satisfactory answers.
The Man: "kid X pooped." Me: "oh good! Was it a big one?" The Man (shrugging): "I don't know. It was a good size." Me: "like, was it a lot?" The Man (with a slight smile on his face): "it's up there in the diaper pail. Would you like to go look at it?"
The diaper pail...oh how that thing REEKED. There is no diaper pail in the creation of humankind that can hold a poopy diaper and not stink. That's what I think anyway.
I used to love it when the little people would be sleeping, or just lying down in their crib, or just lying down period, and when they pooped, it would often go RIGHT up their backs. I became very skilled at getting off a poop-backed oneside, that only had the snaps at the crotch. Roll, roll, roll your clothes, gently up the kid...
So what inspired all this fond reminiscing? Well, today, as usual, I had to GO. Don't look at me that way, I'm no different than anyone else, and I happen to be proud of my attention to fiber. I was racing upstairs, and found that the toilet (the ONE AND ONLY TOILET WE HAVE) had already been used, nice and early, by one of my kids, who shall go nameless. Anyhow, I opened the lid and saw turds and HALF A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER floating like an ominous cloud in the water. Yeah, I had to reach my hand in there and scoop out handfuls of paper before the whole system backed up and onto the bathroom floor. All the while, all I could think of was that somehow my fancy self-manicure of electric fuschia fingernails were now ridiculous, given my current PROFESSION (see my profile), and current JOB AT HAND. Needless to say, after I'd lathered up for ten minutes, I got out the bottle of nail polish remover.
There's nothing like sticking your hand into a toilet to start your day! Ah, it's the little things that make life worth living.