They warn you in all of the baby books that after your precious son or daughter is born you and your spouse will find yourselves discussing poop more often and in greater detail than you ever wanted to think was possible. As in what color, when, how much?
But also, with what velocity? Onto what non-diaper surface?
Before Will was born, Chris and I adhered to an unspoken policy of never discussing bathroom matters with one another. We use euphemisms like “my stomach is upset” to describe what happens when one consumes Sichuan food at a less-than-sanitary establishment. Chris has peed in front of me exactly once–when he landed in the emergency room with horrific back pain and they wanted to make sure none of his kidneys had exploded-or something like that.
Some couples can do bathroom talk and I applaud them. Chris and I just can’t for some reason.
Or at least couldn’t. Before Will was born I don’t think we’d ever used the word “toot” or “fart” in conversation with one another. But its hard not to when there is a little creature in the room breaking wind like he’s trying to solve the energy crises all on his own with the gaseous contents of his wee little stomach.
Which brings us to the word of the day: poo.
I’d always heard the myth on baby websites of adorable little infants unloading their diapers…onto walls 15 feet away from the changing table.
People, turns out this is NOT A MYTH. IT HAPPENS.
Or rather, it would happen if Mama wasn’t standing in the way, acting as a human shield protecting the rest of the room from the projectile stream. That’s right. At 5:45 in the morning me and my nightgown found out this particular myth is rooted in fact. Actually, me, my nightgown, the changing table, and a towel that happened to be in the area as an innocent bystander.
Now granted, most experienced parents reading this post are either a) yawning with boredom or b) laughing at us, but this is all new territory for us and it turns out there are an infinite number of bizarre and fascinating ways we have been exposed to our baby’s “outputs,” shall we say. And most of them end up being pretty funny, at least to our sleep-deprived brains. We’ve since experienced the poo-up-to-baby’s-belly-button, the 3 dirty diapers in 30 seconds never-ending diaper change poo, the how-did-that-get-on-the-couch-cushion-poo, the-on-the-clean-bath-towel-poo, and my favorite: the bathtub poo.
Now honestly, I don’t find breastfed baby poo all that gross. It doesn’t smell bad at all, its a fairly innocuous looking substance. It is, however, something of a menace substance when combined with a baby and bath water. It coats baby in all sorts of incovenient places like baby’s hair, daddy’s forearms, and the back of the hand that baby is desperately trying to gnaw on because pooing in the tub makes him suddenly very hungry.
Luckily baby likes showers apparently. And we like baby so much we think he’s cute even as we go through diapers-and laundry-at an astonishing pace.
Coming soon: an initial review of Bum Genius, FuzziBunz, and Charlie Banana cloth diapers?