Poop: It's the Gift that Keeps on Giving

The day after Michael's half birthday, we started solid foods. I had mixed emotions about this because it not only meant my little baby boy was growing up, but it also meant that mealtime would be more about sitting around the table and less about sitting at the boob. This is especially helpful when we're out in public as he can eat like a big boy from a spoon.

Along with solid foods comes solid poop. This milestone also emphasizes the fact that the bigger Michael gets, the more his stomach and intestines can hold. This week he has made this point very clearly.

I sometimes will call my husband David at work and give him some superlative description of something Michael has done during the day:

"Michael babbled the most I've ever heard him!"
"Awww, Michael made the absolute cutest facial expression!"
"Poor Michael cried harder than he's ever cried in his life!"

Today's superlative was, "Michael had the poopiest diaper EVER!" And today as in days past, I wasn't crying wolf. There were times when I'd reported that exact same thing to David, and just when it seems like it couldn't be topped, it happens. Shit happens, that is.

Michael had been contently playing in his Exersaucer when I heard the telltale grunting and saw his face turn red. I figured I would let him stay upright and finish his business because I don't know if you have ever tried to poop while lying down, but I imagine it mustn't be that comfortable. Once he seemed finished and in his post-BM zen mood, I scooped him up and took him to the changing table.

I grab one wipe, and figure this one might be messy, so I grab a second one just in case. As soon as I removed his pants, I realize that I'm in deep.... errr..... trouble. It was at this moment that the poop became its own entity far bigger than his diaper or me, so I rushed into the bathroom to draw an impromptu bath leaving him on his changing table. Poop was absolutely everywhere, getting on his clothes, him, me, and his plastic changing table pad.

I thought I'd be smart and ready some clean clothes for him once his bath was finished to avoid him getting chilled any longer than necessary, but that plan backfired. Badly. As I was lifting a happy, naked, kicking baby from his changing table, the poop-covered pad stuck to his dimply butt cheeks, and fell over onto his unsoiled clothes.

I was incredibly relieved once Michael was in the bath and washed and rinsed his butt, back, and legs. Because we only have a wall-mounted shower head, I had to do my best to safely maneuver Michael under the bath faucet in order to make sure there was not the least amount of poop on him. He played on the floor in his towel while I bleached the big tub, disinfected his tub, and threw his and my clothes into the washing machine. Once it was all over with, I scrubbed down like a surgeon preparing for a big operation and heaved a sigh of relief.

So with input, comes output. LOTS of output. I know this blowout was the biggest I've yet to deal with, but I know the one that will be even bigger than this one is just around the corner.

Ah, motherhood!