Baby poop

I am writing this post from my iPad, pecking away on a touchscreen keyboard. Why? Because my 8 week old is having a hell of a time pooping today and cannot relax. If I want to write, this is how it must be done- on an iPad, getting hot boxed by the man sized gas expelling itself from an infant sized body. But this it how it goes.

He has relaxed enough for the time being to doze on my shoulder. If I were to try and put him down to free up my time to type properly on the computer, he would start crying all over again. So I peck away. Excuse me for a moment will I gag on this last bit of flatulance.

I just texted my husband this:


There’s absolutely nothing my husband can do to help me, which should probably make me refrain from being angry with him, but I’m pissed he gets a productive day while I wait for his son to take a dump. Annnnd he’s screaming again. Hold the line…

I’m back, until the next wave of discomfort attacks my poor baby. I feel sorry for him being in this much pain. This is one of those poops you and I would be sitting on the pot praying that God would relieve us of this burden- which is a similar prayer when we were hungover.

My mind begins taking inventory of what I have eaten to cause such intestinal distress in my infant. My mommy guilt tells me this must somehow be my fault, which pisses me off because my husband can eat and drink whatever he damn well pleases. So he gets another text message. I won’t include the contents of this text.

Still no poop yet. I just yelled at God to let my kid poop already. I believe that prayer takes many forms, let’s hope God agrees.

He’s lying in his bouncer now, fretting every few minutes. I can’t commit to switching to the computer. Murphy’s law clearly states that any attempt to return to normal activity when your baby finally settles will result in a reaction equal to or greater than (most likely greater than) the original emotive response of the child. So I continue to peck, peck, peck on the virtual keyboard.

I wish this story had a happy ending where in post fecal bliss I report that a bowel movement was achieved and I am now typing comfortably from my computer. Sorry kids, life isn’t a fairy tale, at least not the Disney version- more like the Grimms’ version. There’s still no poop and I’m running out of ways to describe the act of pooping. Guess I’ll spend the rest of the day sending bitchy texts to my husband as an outlet. If you could say a little poop prayer for my baby, I’d appreciate it.

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