It seems amusing to me, as I sit here and type that early on in Baby's young life, I actually called the doctor one day because he had not p**ped in over a week and I felt sure he had "problems". The doctor assured me that that was perfectly normal for breast-fed babies and that they had had babies go as long as 10 days so not to worry.
It only took solid food to change the course of his bowels forever. He now does his job with freakish regularity three times a day. Yes, three times. And, might I add, they are always jobs to be proud of!
If only I had known then what a job it was to change him, I would not have been so eager to help "move" things, if you will. In fact I am one of the only ones who can now change a diaper with a "package" because changing him is something akin to wrestling a greased pig. I, myself, have developed an effective method that involves a towel to lay him on, straddling him and putting one leg over his chest to hold him down. There is usually some screaming involved and often, well, it is just messy!
Oh, but today....Baby slept late this morning and only took a 30 minute morning nap. I now know why. Because despite the fact that I had not noticed a change in his regularity, he has apparently been storing up A LOT in that little body of his.
So, after lunch and a bottle, instead of drifting off to sleep, he hopped up and was ready to play. I put him down to cruise the furniture and heard the tell tale "toot". Knowing what was coming, I developed a plan. I had a headache so I decided to run up and get some Excedrin while he finished up his business and then I would change him. I knew things were proceeding well when I reached the top of the stairs after retrieving the pills and could already smell the evidence. It grew increasingly stronger. I walked through the kitchen, took the pills and headed to the living room where I was BOMBARDED with more p**p than I have ever seen in my life. And I do mean seen. There was a path, a yellow, blobby path from the couch, to the piano, to the little bug blanket he plays on (which, incidentally was not spared). P**p was everywhere. It was all the way up his neck and squishing out the top of his shirt and all the way down to his toes. And, I am sorry, you were warned, one leg was completely yellow. By the time I could disrobe him, I was also covered because there was not one square inch on his body to touch without getting covered.
I took him upstairs, bathed him and headed back to clean up the living room. The clothes, towel, blanket were put in the washing machine ahead of all the other piles awaiting their turn. And then, I began on the floor. I wiped, washed, and even was forced to get a toothpick to clean the cracks between the hardwood planks where it had smushed its way into. I have seen a lot of p**p in my day. I have four children. My grandmother owned a daycare that I went to and then worked at. I have taught kindergarten and pre-K. Never, NEVER, have I seen the likes of what my little guy did today. On the upside, he ought too take GREAT afternoon nap and my living room floor is the cleanest it had been in a long while. However, I now feel the strongest urge to go take another shower before we even do one more minute of school!