Monday, January 6, 2014

A Baby (Poop) Story

Thus far, I have considered myself a pretty laid back parent when it comes to stressing (or not) about little things baby-related. I don't sanitize his pacifier every time it hits the floor (in fact, I have to confess to having picked it up with my toes when in the throes of late night delirium. Don't worry, I had just showered). Usually licking it off constitutes as clean in my book. I also let him pee more than once in each diaper (I know, I know...off to Hades with me!) because I think it's a ridiculous waste of them, considering how small his bladder is!

This week, however, has had me doing the typical first-time-mom worrying, just a tad. You see, Kirstyn and I have been on a trip out to Oregon to visit cousins this week, and as I've got the necessary feeding components, Wade came with me, rather than staying home with Tanner. We weren't really looking forward to a trip with him, obviously, as he eats every three hours or so on average, and (again, obviously) that's not something that can be done while he's in the carseat. That meant a thirty minute stop every three hours, and that would essentially add half a century to our driving time.

However, since this trip was a special occasion, Wade decided to start a growth spurt and eat every two hours instead of three. Change that to an extra millennium. Because of that, towards the end of the trip, I tried to save a little bit of time by giving him a bottle of formula as we drove. It worked like a charm. For an hour. But I really should have known better; every time I've given it to him, he's handled it progressively worse. The first time was fine, the second, he spent the whole day spitting it up and fussing and didn't poop for three days afterward. This time, (the third, and most likely final) he was fine for an hour, but then commenced to throw it all up violently.

Needless to say, we stopped for the night. Sadly, we were two hours from our final destination when this all happened, but the poor kid was miserable, and I was miserable listening to him. We got to the hotel where he crashed and was dead to the world for the next five hours. We continued on our way the next day and spent the week there without much further incident, mostly because there was no further application of formula to his poor tummy.

Remember how the second time I gave him formula there wasn't any poop for quite a while? Now, whether that was because he's ordinarily breastfed and sometimes breastfed babies don't poop for several days in a row or if his gut really hated the formula that much, I don't know. But this time when the dirties didn't show up for three, and then four, five...six days, okay, I admit it...I got the first-time-mom worries. I spent every one of those days wondering if I was the worst person in the world for giving him those two ounces when I know it doesn't really agree with him.

I finally resigned myself to just having a baby that never poops. Honestly, I would have been okay with that--save money on wipes and all that. It wasn't meant to be, however. Saturday night as we finished watching Pride and Prejudice (the six hour version), Wade and I cuddled in a chair as we discussed with varying levels of excitement just how much cuter this Darcy was than the Darcy in the newer movie. Just as there was a lull in the conversation, there came from my chair the sound of an atomic explosion. After a moment of stunned silence (during which time everyone tried to decide if said noise had erupted from me or the baby in my arms...it was seriously that loud), the room erupted in cheers, as we'd all been very invested in his poop situation for the last week. I shrieked a little as well, but it didn't seem to phase him. He just looked relieved to have lightened his load, and hadn't changed his expression much since the original blast, although his eyes did widen a bit in shock upon hearing a sound of that decibel exiting his rear end.

Honestly, this story is probably funniest to those who were present at the time, but I also figured that all you veteran mothers could appreciate it. Thankfully, I had had the forethought to put a slightly bigger diaper on him than normal, as he'd been letting out massive--uh, gusts--all day, which were apparently small samples of the odor to come, and it didn't rooster tail out the back. I did have to send Tanner a text afterward to let him know, as I was awfully excited about the recent turn of events.

He hasn't pooped since then though...I wonder if the next one will be as exciting as this one...?

2 comments :

  1. Being one of those "veteran" moms you talked about....sorry but I had to chuckle....and then in the same breathe tell myself...been there done that.....btw...sorry I missed you when you were across the road...next time.

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  2. This story would've been more complete if he had rooster-tailed all over whoever he was sitting on, necessitating an entire load of laundry and a shower to wrap the whole thing up. Sigh. Maybe next time. :-)

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