A Post About Poop

Will left for JAG School today in Alabama and will be gone for two solid months. Thankfully, my mom is here to help out with the baby and the dogs and so far, I've made it almost 7 hours without my partner in crime, the babe has slept in 2+ hour increments, so we are calling it successful day so far. 

Grandma comes and saves the day.

Our stance on that? We're neutral. ;) ;) ;)

End of sappy, beautiful baby photo array. And down to the nitty-gritty.

I'm coping here like any other mature adult. With humor. Not just any humor you guys, but poop humor. Writing material abounds. 

I have to be brave. 

What can I say? I thought the farting figure skater was the funniest thing to happen to the Internet since Charlie Bit Me (autotuned).

The prime culprit.

Secondary culprits.

Reader discretion is obvious. This post is literally about poop. 

First off, I was worried when I was still pregnant that I bought too many newborn diapers (100+) because we thought Will might be a big baby. Gaining 40+ pounds makes one hope so. (Two weeks early, 7 lbs. 11 oz., so I think we weren't too off base here.) Well the kid sharts every 15 minutes. (Excuse my French.) I'm obsessed w/ the baby tracker app and he spent SEVENTEEN DIAPERS the other day. SEVENTEEN. 

That doesn't even include the diapers that met their demise before ever being strapped to the little man's bum. We will change him then literally when we strap the diaper on we will hear the dreaded wet fart. And he's going down for a nap so we have to change him. Then he'll pee all across the room on that next change. (Proud mom moment when I realize the indoor/outdoor area rug is not only fashionable, but functional as well. AKA urine wipes off easily.) 

TRUE STORY: Yesterday I was changing Will and big Will was in the room, so I jokingly said to the baby, "you pee on me, and you're disinherited!"

You know how this story ends.

Obviously, he's a lawyer in the making. He knows a child cannot be disinherited by verbal declaration. There rather must be a notarized document signed in the presence of two or more witnesses. He knows I'm too lazy for all that right now. Oh and I have no property to bequest.

Projectile poops. Yeah, I'm going there. Just when I thought I got the "open air accident" pee situation under control (using a burp cloth fashioned into what I call a "pee turban" much like a peepee teepee), we start seeing the "open air accident" poops. 

The other night at about 3 in the morning I was changing baby Will's diaper and ppfffffffffthhhhh . . . 

. . . and what I call a "gold rush." From this here changing table (right) to the cube organizer (left). And all over the wall. How is this even possible? I don't know. I screamed for Will to come in and assist - the baby was poop hemorrhaging - and we leave no man behind. Will took to wiping the soiled (formerly clean) diapers, changing table, cube organizer, wall and diaper genie (not pictured). 

The next day, in the revealing light of the morning sun, round two of cleanup commenced. We are all still recovering from the trauma.

Postpartum poops. Yeah, I'm going there, too. Lovingly referred to as the PPPs or "triple Ps." My mom warned me and I was able to combat the constipation tide with copious amounts of Colace. My sister (who gave birth two a perfect little girl just four days after me), was not so lucky. 

"More painful than pushing me out!" - MJ Whitehead
:) :) :) 

Finally, I don't know if it solely has to do with the weather, or the fact that Daisy has more and more unencumbered access to fecal matter in the back yard these days, but Daisy loves her poopsicles. She comes in from doing her business with the distinct scent of poo on the palate. I try to keep an eye on her when she's out there, but I can only be so vigilant. Insistent scolding and a semi-violent toothbrushing leave her undeterred.

Undeterred.

And now the baby is stirring and it's back to the trenches. 

Wish me luck!