There are some things that Moms do that I said I would never do. Disgusting, humiliating things.
But Since becoming a Mom, I think I have done them all.
Spit on my fingers to wipe off my child's face, check.
Pick my child's nose, check.
Wipe spit off baby's face with bare hand or my clothing, check.
Use my own clothing as burp/barf cloth, check.
Walk around town with constant spit stains on my left shoulder, check.
Walk around the grocery store in a daze with unwashed clothing and unwashed hair, check.
Pre-chew small bits of my own food then give to baby like a Mother bird, check.
Talk about my kid's gas as if everyone is interested in my babies air release functions, check.
But something I never thought in a million years I would do is inspect poop. I have become a regular detective. It is like a CSI crime scene and I am the chief of investigations.
When my little guy has a dirty diaper I am almost excited. Eagerly I anticipate what I am about to discover about my child.
Looks like Daddy gave you carrots last night.
The worst part is that I don't just look. I have to take an extra wet wipe and poke for consistency.
Looks like you need some more apple juice in your diet to thin things out a bit.
My babysitter and husband know that if Ronan has a poopy diaper I must be notified immediately. Even if I am at the grocery store. Imagine the horror of the other shoppers when they overhead this:
"Well was it too hard? I mean does it look like he needs more apple juice?"
"That wet huh? Looks like he better back off on the apricots."
"Orange? On no, nothings wrong, that's just carrots."
Sometimes John will yell up the stairs, "Honey, Ronan pooped."
"Don't throw it away! I need to see that!", I call back with way too much enthusiasm.
Gross. I know. Do I need therapy? Probably, but I am really into keeping my little guy regular. Not too constipated, but not too gassy. Just right, like baby bear in the story of The Three Little Bears but they were talking about porriage. Maybe Mamma bear was also concerned about baby bears bowl movements.
It is really for selfish reasons. When he is constipated he is cranky, and thus I suffer. When he is too gassy, he doesn't sleep. I suffer more.
So my interest in poop is really a selfish thing. It is a delicate balance that keeps Ronan and I happy.
It just happens to center around my new hobby. His poop.
But Since becoming a Mom, I think I have done them all.
Spit on my fingers to wipe off my child's face, check.
Pick my child's nose, check.
Wipe spit off baby's face with bare hand or my clothing, check.
Use my own clothing as burp/barf cloth, check.
Walk around town with constant spit stains on my left shoulder, check.
Walk around the grocery store in a daze with unwashed clothing and unwashed hair, check.
Pre-chew small bits of my own food then give to baby like a Mother bird, check.
Talk about my kid's gas as if everyone is interested in my babies air release functions, check.
But something I never thought in a million years I would do is inspect poop. I have become a regular detective. It is like a CSI crime scene and I am the chief of investigations.
When my little guy has a dirty diaper I am almost excited. Eagerly I anticipate what I am about to discover about my child.
Looks like Daddy gave you carrots last night.
The worst part is that I don't just look. I have to take an extra wet wipe and poke for consistency.
Looks like you need some more apple juice in your diet to thin things out a bit.
My babysitter and husband know that if Ronan has a poopy diaper I must be notified immediately. Even if I am at the grocery store. Imagine the horror of the other shoppers when they overhead this:
"Well was it too hard? I mean does it look like he needs more apple juice?"
"That wet huh? Looks like he better back off on the apricots."
"Orange? On no, nothings wrong, that's just carrots."
Sometimes John will yell up the stairs, "Honey, Ronan pooped."
"Don't throw it away! I need to see that!", I call back with way too much enthusiasm.
Gross. I know. Do I need therapy? Probably, but I am really into keeping my little guy regular. Not too constipated, but not too gassy. Just right, like baby bear in the story of The Three Little Bears but they were talking about porriage. Maybe Mamma bear was also concerned about baby bears bowl movements.
It is really for selfish reasons. When he is constipated he is cranky, and thus I suffer. When he is too gassy, he doesn't sleep. I suffer more.
So my interest in poop is really a selfish thing. It is a delicate balance that keeps Ronan and I happy.
It just happens to center around my new hobby. His poop.
2 people had this to say...:
Just think Rach, checking his poop will be just that much more fun when you switch to those cloth diapers! LOL Missy
Oh dude... I SO don't do poop.
Blech.
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