Poop, poop, and more poop -- Tales of the Turdinator

WARNING: This post contains graphic images, not suitable for anyone. Viewer discretion is advised.

One of the (many) things I didn't know about parenting was how your life truly becomes consumed by poop. In the first week of your child's life you are constantly counting poops to make sure she is eating enough, examining soiled diapers to make sure it looks like the books say it should, etc. After that week, however, you become much less interested in the health aspects and more aware of the amount of diapers you are going through. As your child grows, this only increases.

Poop has become a form of currency in our house. "I will do X if you change this one." You would be surprised at the things we will offer to do for each other just to avoid climbing out of bed to change a stinky diaper. The current rule is that the person who is watching Liv when she poops has to change that diaper. This became an official rule after Sean tried to pull a fast one on me the other day. He was giving Liv her 4:00 a.m. bottle, while I was pumping her next meal. (Don't question our method...it seems to work better for us this way.) While I was in the kitchen washing up, Liv apparently did a little business. Sean thought he would pretend he didn't hear it (or smell it). Now, mind you, there is no way not to hear it if you are within 20 feet of her when she blows. He had that little smirk I love so much on his face when I returned to the bedroom, and I knew trouble was afoot. The joke was on him, however, when he picked Liv up and handed her to me, only to realize that poop had leaked through her pajamas, through the sheet, and onto the bed itself. We had to strip the sheets, clean the bed, and sleep in the guest room for the rest of the morning. Lesson learned, my friend.

Perhaps the most disgusting poop disaster struck yesterday (even worse than the Sears Poonami). Liv usually goes in the morning, but for some reason had not pooped by 4:00 p.m. We wanted to go get something to eat, and I said we should probably wait until she poops. But not knowing when that might be, we loaded her up and headed out. We had gotten no further than the gas station at the edge of the neighborhood when we heard her blow. We stopped at the gas station, thinking I could just change her in the car and be on our way. But that was not the case at all. When I peered into the car seat, I saw that Liv was sitting in a pool of poop. Yes, that's right, a poop pool. Home we went. The next hour was spent cleaning baby, car seat (which required total disassembly), and bathroom. In case you don't believe me, here is a photo of the poor car seat. There is no picture of Liv because I couldn't find her among all the yellow slime.

Sorry to gross everyone out, but these events never cease to amaze, and I feel I must share them with you all. And by the way, to the people who say that the poop of breastfed babies doesn't stink, I would like to know what you are smoking (and send some my way).