Distraction

Rowan is a surprisingly strong little girl. She always has been. I felt my first kick at 14 weeks of pregnancy, and it was nothing like those flutters they tell you about--it hurt! Physically, she's got a lot more stamina than most of her friends, so I'm able to push her in ways you might not expect of a 2-year old.

The other night, her dad was not coming home for dinner, so we were on our own. She took an extra long nap and woke after 5 PM, and I wanted to help tire her out so I could get her to bed at the right time. We went to take Lucy on our usual walk, but this time I offered to let her walk the whole way instead of riding in the stroller for 3/4 of the walk.

Our walk is 1.4 miles. She's done a mile before without a problem, so I decided to give it a try.

I leashed Lucy, and then grabbed Rowan's Elmo walking harness handle thing.

Yeah, I leashed her. I LEASH MY CHILD. Cruel, whatever. We live on a 35 mph road, and at 5 PM I am not taking any chances.

So we took off walking, and she was doing great. Down the hill we went, the two of them criss-crossing in front and behind me. Lucy would stop to smell a tree or clump of grass, and Rowan would do the same. We walked past the park, up the hill, and around the corner. We met neighborhood dogs and talked to people we see on our daily walks. Rowan was doing fine--she was going strong! This was wonderful. No problem! I envisioned days without wrangling with the second-hand Peg stroller, without the "Rowan walk? Rowan walk?" arguments, free as a breeze as we walked together as a family.

As we were heading back up the hill, Rowan started to get a little fussy. I gave her a lift on my back for a few blocks, and she giggled and held on tight as Mom took on the steepest part of the hike. As we reached the corner where I normally allow her out of the stroller, she begged to walk again. Lucy took this chance to finally do her business, and I dutifully bagged and sealed it as we headed home. It was supper time, we were hungry, hot and sweaty and both in need of a cool drink.

Just then, Rowan tripped.

And then it started. The lip squared, the jaw jutted forward, the waterworks commenced. And then she wailed as her knee developed a dime-sized pink scrape.

My only thought? DISTRACT HER. Distract the kid. Give her something so she stops. STOPS. Anything! QUICK!!!

"Here, Honey! Can you carry this for Mommy?"

And I found myself handing her the only thing I had.

The bag of poop.

Yes, I leash my precious child and make her carry sacks of dog shit.

Someone call Child Protective Services.

Quick.

I'm taking it as a sign.

It's a busy weekend here in Academicsburg. Dr. B's department has 2 banquets (Friday and Sunday), and his Solar Decathlon project another (Saturday), plus a ribbon cutting. Rowan went to one banquet and stayed with a friend for another, and will again join that friend tonight as we finish what is every-so-affectionately known as "Hell Weekend".

Saturday was a busy day. She was tired from the night before, but the Solar house was here and the ribbon-cutting ceremony was at noon. As I've done before, I asked her if she could play alone in her room for ten minutes while I showered, and then I'd give her a bath. She looked up at me with big, solemn eyes and repeated, "Good girl. Promise!"

She tried. I give her that.

I stepped into the room, clean and fresh-smelling, my hair dripping water down my back, and found her. Naked, sitting in the middle of the guest bed. Hands, chest, and bum--brown.

"Poopy!" she said, upset. Distressed. "Poopy! Uh-oh. No no no!!!" Nasty, funny-colored, and foul-smelling. I don't know what she ate at our friend's house, but she sure didn't like the feeling of its return.

I'm hoping this means she's getting closer to potty training days. She's a helpful little tyke, but diaper changing is really something I'd rather she didn't help with. Ew.

Advice

Rowan is fighting through the diaper rash, thanks to all the great advice I've received. Dr. B didn't think it would be wise to change the antibiotic now (something about different flora?), but the combination of butt-blowing and Boudreaux's apparently did the trick and most of the rash is gone, the remaining bits not seeming to bother her and shrinking fast.

I've added yogurt (homemade) to her food, and upped her banana and applesauce intake to help the digestive issues, but I think the thing that worked best was missing a dose of the meds last night (woops). Today's two poops were much more solid.

This afternoon, since she'd done those already, I gave her free reign following her bath to run around for a few minutes, drying out. Everyone said, "leave her diaper off as much as possible!" I was told to lay a pad down, but that doesn't do much good with her, due to her newfound mobility and joy in Walking! All! The! Time! I kept an eye on her as she dug through my shoes in my closet while loading shirts and pants on to hangers.

Now I have some advice for you: This stuff is great for removing poop stains from carpet.

Relief

Yesterday, Dr. B stayed a little later in the morning than usual, eating breakfast with us, and listening to Morning Edition, while he waited for the next bus. We sat on the couches, coffee cups in hand and with dueling laptops, while Rowan played with her toys a few feet away. Soon, she crawled over to her dad and stood up, hugging his knees and bouncing on the tips of her toes.

He laughed and talked with her for a few minutes. Then, she turned her face to the side and leaned against his kneecaps.

"Pew!" he said, "I think she already pooped."

"Nope," I answered. "She's doing it right now. She's got a rather zen look on her face."

Just then, she lifted her head, gave him a big smile, and let out a breath.

"Ahhhh!!!!"

Oh, what a relief it is.

I'm tired of doing laundry.

So I'd really like to win another 12 BumGenius 3.0's. I love these diapers, and I'm not a squeamish girlie-girl who can't handle seeing poop twice (yes, that's totally a dig on my stepsisterinlaw.) I feel better about the lack of diapers in the landfill, I love that my daughter never has diaper rash, and quite frankly she looks absolutely adorable in them. But really, I'd rather do a bigger load every 2 days than a small one every day. Pick me! Pick me!

In the Ool

No topic is sacred. Especially at the bar. I love DadLabs videos.

So, do you?

The Saga

Yes, I am a new Mom. And I write about poop. A lot.

It appears I found the cure for her constipation. At least today. Yes, I did up her dose of the med the doctor gave her. But I don't think that was the answer.

The thing that got things, um, going?

Yams.

Roasted, cooled, peeled, puréed (with a small amount of water) and fed to her with tofu and carrots.

Man, oh man, did that work. 4 times and 3 outfits in one day work.

I yi yi.

Trying to Help

Guest Post

Mommy said Rowan's been kind of plugged up, and so she decided not to feed her oats today. She got prunes (I licked out the container), green beans, and applesauce. Then she took a nap and when she woke up, Mommy changed her and put her in a cute outfit.

She played on the blanket on the floor for a while. Then she fell over, and when Mommy picked her up, she started laughing and said, "it must have worked!" She tried to clean her up, but it was pretty messy, so she took her upstairs to give her a bath.

When she came down she was really, really mad at me. She yelled a lot and then she made me get in the bathtub and washed my mouth out with baby soap.

I don't know why. I was just trying to help clean up.

Love,
Lucy

Rub a Dub Dub

Yesterday was a rough day. Rowan was fussy, didn't want to sleep, and pooped. A lot. 5 times, in fact, in 24 hours. We spent some time at the mall, returning some Christmas things and shopping the baby sales. For some reason, she is usually good when we're shopping, so I wheeled her around Macy's and the Bon Ton as long as she stayed content, picking up several cute Carter's outfits and jammies in her size and in some bigger sizes for next winter. Halfway through the shopping excursion, she created the fifth "production", and seemed happy and relieved. I was sure this was it, she had to be cleaned out.

Today dawned, and she was in a much better mood. She took a morning and afternoon nap, played happily, and didn't even fuss when it was time to eat. (In fact, I forgot to nurse her for about 6 hours. Oops.) She did have a leak-through due to a massive pee, and got pulled out of her carpenter jeans, onesie and Como Zoo sweatshirt and put in her new yellow Carter's fleece jumpsuit with the little birdie in the cage on the chest, before taking a late-afternoon walk with Lucy.

Dr. B and I were having supper while Rowan sat with us in her Bumbo chair on the floor. She wasn't yet ready for bed, but was happy as long as she could see us. From time to time, I spooned a little of my applesauce into her mouth. (Note: she likes the Gerber version better.) Dr. B commented on how cute her outfit was, and I said, "I know, I love it. Pale yellow, and the darling little birdie! I think she can wear it to bed, with socks. It's just like a sleeper, except without feet, and she only wore it a few hours." After we finished our pork chops and potatoes and gravy, Dr. B cleared the table and I picked her up. "P.U.! I guess she wasn't cleaned out!" I said, and headed upstairs to the changing table to get her cleaned up and ready for bed.

I opened her diaper, and saw a little of what I expected. I lifted her legs to clean her up, and that's when I realized it. The real reason they recalled the Bumbo chair. It's not because of tipping, no, that's just a convenient excuse. It's because of what the chair does when a child is sitting in it while he or she takes a dump.

So much for the yellow jumpsuit.

"Honey!!!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Can you help me?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

"Just come up here. To the changing table," I said. "You'll see..." as I ran, baby dangling from my outstretched arms, toward the tub.

I set her down and turned on the water. She shrieked as the cool water touched her toes, so I lifted her and moved her a few inches away. Big mistake. Now, in front of her was poop, a textured tub bottom, and water. Baby finger painting. She leaned forward and started gleefully spreading the poo all over the floor of the shower.

"Aaaaagggghhhh!!!" I yelled, grabbing her wrists with one hand and trying to wipe some of the mousse au chocolat from her back while keeping her from sticking her fingers in her mouth. Just then Dr. B caught sight of the changing table. "Aaaaagggghhhh!!!" he shouted, "what happened?"

I rinsed 90% of the poo off her back, but looking at the murky water, I knew it was futile. I picked her up, thanking God she was still small enough, and sat her in the sink. I snagged the baby wash and gave her a quick bath, dodging her poopy hands while heading her off as she grabbed for the candle, matches, washcloth, towel, soap dish and soap. Trusting that she was mostly clean, I laid her out on her towel and carried her, hammock-style, into the bedroom.

"Wow," said Dr. B as he scrubbed away at the changing pad. "There was so much poop, it was in the little dots of the design. I got the grapefruit cleaner. And I'm starting a load of laundry."

I grabbed another wipe to get the last vestiges off her (a little stain on the towel proved the sink bath wasn't foolproof), diapered her and dressed her in another fresh outfit, and handed her off to him as I headed back into the bathroom, armed.

Those bubbles had some serious scrubbing to do.

Code Brown

As I've mentioned before, Rowan's been constipated. The prune juice/rice cereal combination was helping, but I was still searching for the right combination. I went to my family for advice. My dad laughed when he answered the phone. "She must be just like you. When you were little, you wouldn't go for a week! Then when you did, you'd plug up the toilet every time. Man, if we didn't break it up, you'd clog the whole works. I couldn't believe such a big turd could come from such a little girl!!!"

My dad's wife Pam suggested giving her fruit and eliminating the rice, and my cousins suggested warm wheat bags, pear juice, and bottom burps. I went to friends, who said rice was constipating for her son, and she had success with oat cereal. Since I can only do one new food every 5 days for fear of allergies (I have tons, so I do have to be careful), I began by introducing oats on Saturday morning. Mixed with the prune juice, she ate it happily.

Saturday night we couldn't get a babysitter to attend a department party, so Dr. B invited his Solar Decathalon group and Energy Club out for a dinner to celebrate the end of a good semester. I put on my purple Sonia Rykiel skirt and a turtleneck with boots, and dressed Rowan in my current favorite of her outfits. I topped a pink, long-sleeved onesie and pink tights with a brown velvet pinafore and bloomers. She looked adorable as I strapped her in the car seat, kicking and screaming. I hoped she would be better at the restaurant.

We arrived, and Rowan calmed down as we placed her carseat in the sling. While she was content, I chose to leave her in the seat, knowing she would want to be out and held later on. Students started arriving, and appetizers and drinks were ordered. I promptly spilled spinach dip on my designer skirt. But Rowan seemed happy, the students were nice and polite and very excited about their project, and overall the evening was going very well.

I kept up a lively chatter, leaning over every few minutes to talk with Rowan, hand her a toy, or kiss her cheek. As I leaned over again, I smelled something. "Pew!" I said, smiling, as I reached down to unclick the carseat buckle. It was somewhat buried in the fabric of her skirt, and as I pulled my hand away, I noticed the brown velvet had leaked all over my hand.

Except this wasn't velvet.

"Crap." I said, "Honey, can you put the handle up? I need to change her, now. And please, get me another napkin..." I headed to the bathroom.

Great. No changing station. One sink that worked, and it was one of those motion-sensored ones, and I was wearing black, which guaranteed a bunch of frantic hand-waving in front of the little sensor. No soap, except for a few wimpy suds from the pump at the non-working sink.

And poop. Everywhere. And not just poop. This was Liqui-Poo, espresso brown. Like when you pull out the coffeemaker basket half way through the brewing process. Little chunks and all. On her dress, filling her bloomers. Swirled down her tights. Soaking the crotch of the onesie. In the cracks of the carseat buckle. Soaking the carseat liner. And even... on her pacifier. (Shudder.)

I got the changing pad out of the diaper bag, and looked at her, lying there between the two sinks, happy as a clam. I put it under her head, and grabbed a handful of paper towels to put under her butt. Four seconds later, they were soaked through, so I changed them, stuffing the used ones in the over-full trash bin.

My guardian angel must have been watching out for me, because at some point I had the foresight to include a new pack of wipes and a clean outfit for her. I stripped off her clothes as carefully as I could, dodging her poopy feet (try explaining both spinach dip and poop footprints to a dry cleaner) and throwing them into a plastic bag from a roll that I have never been so thankful to have in my bag. I rolled up the Bundle Me winter car seat liner, glad that it had caught the brunt of the mess, and cleaned the cracks of the buckle with a wipe and my fingernail. I wiped her, finding poo everywhere from her belly button to her temples. Finally, she was buck naked, lying on the counter, and happy as she could be. She charmed all the ladies that came in to pee as I wiped the crap off her forehead. I dressed her again, washed my hands repeatedly, and picked up the carseat, diaper bag and baby to head back to the dining area.

The students were laughing when I came back, and announced "Code Brown". They found it hilarious.

Me, not so much.