Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Today's Entry is Dedicated Entirely to My Son's Poop
Yes, I am aware, that I may be in need of psychological help. So Liam hadn't pooped in 4 days. Oh, he tried. His little face would become tomato red, there were grunts and yelps, but nothing to show for it. I tried baby massage, words of comfort, ("Who does number 2 work for!?"), gentle sounds, even a nice warm bath. Chris says it was like Liam spent the day at a spa. What was I to do next? Light some candles and put on some Barry White to get him in the mood? Scare the crap out of him? Never in my life did I imagine parenthood, would lead to my husband and I spending DAYS discussing our son's lack of pooh. There were phone calls exchanged, "Anything yet?" Text messages: "Has the eagle landed in the nest?" and "Brown package, not yet arrived." We sat around staring at him, probably causing performance anxiety. Audible farts were met with loud cheers and then we would flee from the smell, as his mocking laughter, rang in our ears. Finally knowing it may be the only thing that would force something to happen, I called the doctor. It worked! We had lift off, before the doc even had time to return the call. And it was silent. I didn't even notice until Gabby told me. She was sniffing interestedly in the diaper region, and I just knew. I held my breath, I didn't want to run, so I carried Liam quickly to the changing table. Could it be true? Had the brown package, indeed arrived? With anticipation growing with every second, I slowly removed the diaper and looked inside. What did I find...Peanut butter? Is that peanut butter? No, but it sure looked like it. What he had lacked in quantity he made up for in quality. I wrapped my prize in a doggie poop bag, tracked down Chris in the back yard and triumphantly exclaimed, "Hallelujah!" Actually I sang, this! (No really, I did.) "Did he poop? Is he really done? How does he feel?" We quickly ran back to check on him. He seemed to feel pretty good. We looked at him adoringly with pride shining in our eyes. At which point, he farted contentedly and I wiped a tear from my eye, (mostly from the smell, I admit.) Chris, turns lovingly to me, and says these wise, fatherly words: "What on earth did you eat?"