Risks and Rewards

Henry has been doing this awesome thing where he sleeps through the night. And I'm talking, 7 hours straight, wakes up to eat, and then another 3 hours. Yes, I know, we are very lucky. We actually have dreams at night now, which I guess doesnt happen if you dont sleep more than an hour in a row. Oh to dream again...

With the arrival of these new sleeping patterns comes a consequence. It was too good to be true. Let's just say, Henry isn't pooping at night anymore because he is sleeping so well, so his first poop of the day is usually around noon. You'll understand the significance of the whole no-night-pooping and first-poop-at-noon thing once I share with you an experience I won't ever forget.

Last week we decided to take Henry to lunch with us to meet up with a good friend who, after 10 weeks, had yet to meet our little dude. We're enjoying our lunch at Sharkeys, seriously delicious nachos, when Henry spits up a little bit while James is holding him. Henry is getting really fussy and James notices that both of their shirts are wet, we figure it's from the spit up and possibly that he peed out his diaper. So James and I bring the diaper bag to the 1-person bathroom to change his diaper and clothes. The bathroom doesn't have one of the baby changing tables. Ugh. I bite the bullet and we decide to use our changing mat and put it on the floor...my poor child, so close to this disgusting bathroom floor. But we had no other option. We unbutton his romper and what we find is poop all over his little body. Up his back almost to his neck, on his tummy, and on his legs. It was absolutely insane. We looked at eachother like we were about to go skydiving -- a look of disbelief. Is this really happening? Can I bail on this whole situation right now? -- 

We get the outfit off, and as we pull it over his head more poop is getting smeared onto his body. We are being extremely generous with our wipe usage, getting him cleaned up, getting ourselves cleaned up, all the while a damn fly keeps buzzing around my kids bare, poopy butt. Poor child. And whoever said that newborns poop doesnt smell...that's got to be some sort of a myth. After ten minutes of James and I fumbling around trying to get this situation cleaned up, keeping Henry from squirming off of the changing mat onto the horrible bathroom floor, swatting away the fiesty flies, we emerged. Stronger than we entered. With images we won't ever forget...not only because they were so...unhumanely, but because the same thing happened the two days following.

The moral of the story is...when you don't poop at night, and your first poop is at noon, the mass of the poop being expelled, and the force with which it is being expelled, leads to some unbelievable velocity. Because I think that is what physics says happens...and because I am grasping to any last remnants of intelligence left in my mushy mom brain.

This is the sweet, sweet face that made that monstrosity of a blow out.

well that sucked

So I'm going to cut right to it. I faced my biggest fear [slash] worst nightmare last night. My husband had me come along to visit with some old friends. Before leaving I told him my stomach was feeling off. So there I am, at someone else's house, feeling like hell was being shoved through my intestines. I was dizzy, hot and was going between nausia -- which I have no idea how to spell -- and stomach cramps.  I thought I'd use the restroom to go pee and relieve some pressure in that stomach region. Well my body had other plans and next thing I know, I have no control, I am panicking and going between running the faucet, flushing multiple times and spraying febreeze down between my legs into the toilet. You know, just in case.

It was hell. and it was an absolute first. I have never (forgive my absolute shame and immaturity) gone #2 in someone elses house. Seriously. It's just something I don't do. It's like...against my morals or something. It's a horrible thing, that though we all do it, we don't want it to be acknowledged.

So there I was, the deed was done and I felt like i usually do after an hour long hike. Exhausted. And then it hit me, the four of them are right outside this door. I dont know if they heard the incident that just occurred--the flushing and water running. I dont know if they are wondering why i had been in there for over 3 minutes. I dont know if my panic was apparent. So, in my quick thinking, I brilliantly pulled out my phone, walked out of the bathroom pretending to talk on it....because, oh of course, thats why I was in there for so long, I was talking on the phone, in the bathroom, right....and then smiled at everyone and pointed at my phone and walked outside in that sort of "sorry, i've got to take this call" kind of way. Immediately there after I did actually called my mom, relived my horror and, because I am my mother's daughter, she fully sympathized with how horrible it is to have to be in that position. Thanks mom, you sure know how to make a shitty experience better, pun very much intended. We chatted about life and work and poop for about 15 minutes and then I knew I had to re-enter the house. I came in smiley and happy, because I seriously was feeling so much better on the physical side and saying "oh my mom says hi!" even though, she really only knows james, but that always seems to make up for abandoning a social gathering for 20 minutes if you come back with a message like, "oh she says hi!"

People are getting ready to leave and I whisper to my husband "go to the bathroom before anyone else." He, fully oblivious to what had happened, says "I dont have to go, I'm all good." Until I look at him and say "I was in there last, please go make sure the area is clear and all evidence has dissapeared." And so he did, he said everything was fine. My husband, my hero. And then we left and I told him the whole story and he felt bad, saying that when I said my stomach didnt feel well, he just thought i was "airy" and fully reassured me that no one had a clue. I love being married.