Being a Pop Rocks!
I’m not sure why, but parents LOVE sharing poop stories. It’s a strange thing when parents get together and start trading poo stories in a “That’s NOTHING! MY kid did this…” way. Since this is a daddy blog, I figured I’d share one too. If that’s not your thing, skip to the Awwwwwwww for the Awwwww part of this entry.
For a good while, my daughter pooped well after starting solids. Even when we started meats and veggies, she did well. And by well, I mean they were well for her; for my wife and I, we deeply missed the comparatively odorless breast milk poop. Some days, she wouldn’t poop, and we were worried about constipation. Our fears were quickly assuaged and replaced with the fear of God when our daughter produced explosive poop the following day. For you non or newbie parents out there, explosive poops test the far reaches of the child’s diaper and often get up their back and in some rare cases, as high as the hair on their head. I kid you not – I’ve seen it happen. In my case, we were at Woomi Garden for dinner w/ friends when my daughter was about 2 or 3 months old (so still being breastfed). I was holding my daughter on my lap and we were having a great after dinner conversation. I later notice a small yellow spot on my suit pants…strange…I didn’t order curry. Then my wife taps me on the arm and w/ a look of shock and horror, she says, “Ummmm…honey…” This is NEVER a good thing
I look and there is poop all over my tie, my shirt and my pants. Seedy, yellow, breast milk poop. Thankfully, I took my suit jacket off for the meal. It was actually quite hilarious – at least my friends thought so.
So when my daughter didn’t poop for one day, we braced ourselves the following day (and I made sure not to wear a suit). Strangely…no explosions. Even stranger: no poop at all. So the next day, I’m really bracing myself…this is going to be an EPIC poop. I was nearly tempted to let her walk around diaperless since we have pergo flooring and just allow her to let it rip – that or tie a garbage bag around her waist.
The poop to end all poops never came. Our fear of explosive poo was now replaced w/ a fear that our daughter was constipated.
Our fears were confirmed when she started crying for no apparent reason at church the next day. She would make her poop face (yes newb parents, you’ll learn your child’s poop face) and cry in agony. Now just think, 3-4 days worth of food trying to pass through that tiny digestive system – not a pretty sight. As an adult, I know when I’m constipated that if I can get that initial turd out, everything else will pass; but as a baby, I could tell she was trying to hold it in since it was causing her pain.
We asked other parents at church what we should do and most of them told us to get her in a warm bath to relax her body. We did that immediately when we got home, but it didn’t seem to help much.
Her body was trying to pass it and she’d pull it back in due to the pain (think whack-a-mole). It would peek out…then see its shadow and run back in. And each time this happened, my daughter would cry in agony. I stood idly by just praying she’d pass it…and then…
something awe-inspiring happened. This is where the mother’s love and the father’s love differ. Seeing our daughter like this so stirred my wife’s soul that when the turd reared its ugly head, she grabbed it with her bare hands, and in one fluid motion threw it in the toilet like a basketball player throwing down a dunk.
I stood there, jaw agape. Did I really just see what I think I saw? The only time I can remember something like this was when Janet’s nipple flashed on-screen. Did I really just see that?
After that, my daughter was relieved and my wife scrubbed her hands more thoroughly than a surgeon.
So daughter, I know you’re going to grow up and you’re going to get annoyed by us as parents, but remember, mommy loved you so much that she grabbed a turd out of your butt.
Alright, you either made it this far or you skipped down. Either way, kudos!
Yesterday was my wife’s prenatal visit and they also did the test for gestational diabetes. Thankfully, she was allowed to drink 16oz of OJ and 1/2 a banana rather than that nasty glucose solution she had to drink the last time around.
We got to the birth center and it turns out they were behind schedule. Since we were about 20 minutes early and we had to go to Annapolis Town Center afterward to pick something up, I decided to take my daughter there while my wife waited. I told my daughter we’d be getting frozen yogurt and she was really excited!
I ran my errand and then I hurried off to the froyo shop. My daughter is pretty independent now, so she doesn’t like to hold my hand while she walks. We were walking side by side for a bit and then I notice she fell behind. I told her, “Come on daughter. Let’s go! Let’s go get frozen yogurt!” but she wouldn’t budge. Puzzling. Is there something interesting in the store? Nope…she’s not even looking. And then I realized what it was.
If you’ve ever been to those open air town centers, you know that there are those outdoor speakers every few hundred feet or so, and they usually blare pop music. Well, my daughter stood there, dancing to the beat that was coming out of the speaker. Granted, she’s not a great dancer – she just sort of sits there and bounces and then she starts spinning around in circles. I once again asked her if she wanted to get froyo, but she stood there dancing.
To heck w/ my schedule and beating traffic and getting back in time. I started dancing with my daughter in the middle of Annapolis Town Center. Now we weren’t doing crazy moves–maybe when she gets older–we basically looked like we were running in place, but it was still amazingly fun. She finally started walking and once we got to the next speaker, she started dancing again. And this time, so did I.
Instead of taking the froyo to go as I originally planned, I sat down and enjoyed it with my daughter. Rather than subject her to the rigid scheduling I’m accustomed to as DC Metro Area person, I enjoyed my time with her. I let her scribble on the chalkboard and asked her what she was drawing. Jasmine and Cinderella. Naturally.
And on the walk back to the car, we danced again.
Life can get rather hectic and busy, and although I often think I have so many lessons to teach my daughter, she’s actually the one teaching me to slow down and dance. Being a pop rocks!
This reminds me of an old song my sister used to love: I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womack.