Yesterday bean had TWO poops. Both were accompanied by screams and the saddest tears there ever were.
Poor sweet boy. I wish we could figure out how to fix his gut so pooping is smooth and happy as opposed to whatever it is now (painful, clearly, but since the stool is soft it’s not constipation!)
Both episodes were stressful in the moment but, looking back, comedy abounds.
The first: I’m pooping, and bean comes crawling toward me as fast as he can screaming his poop cry. I know instantly what’s happening, dash off the toilet, pick him up and turn around only to aim him onto the seat instead of into the bowl! Poop is everywhere: his shirt, my shirt, all down his legs, my arms; it is a crazy amount. He stops screaming (though the crying continues) and finally with a lot of shushing and a lot more poop spread he calms down. We both hop into the shower and bean is thrilled by the water! He is completely enthralled by the streams splattering his hands.
The second: I’m getting ready for the gym when I hear it again: that desperate cry that borders panic before sheer pooping pain. I race to rescue bean only to slip on boomer’s blanket and fall flat on my face, jamming my finger in the meantime. Bean is prairie-dogging, and the 20 foot trip from the kitchen to the bathroom never seemed so lengthy. Failure was inevitable. A little log (a soft one mind you) lands right next to my yoga mat (at least it wasn’t near the oly mat!) before we make it to the bathroom. I yelled my apologies to A as I forged onward with my distraught babe. My aim was particularly bad yesterday; we ended up in the shower once more. We had fun splashing around, and bean was smiling once more.