The Importance of Poop

People take pooping for granted. For those that have it easy-lucky you. Some of us have struggled more than others to master this mindless biological function. Let me tell you from the experience of today- IT IS DEFINITELY NOT FUN TO DEAL WITH A CONSTIPATED INFANT. Gillian last pooped Tuesday. THEY say "breastfed babies rarely get constipated". THEY are wrong. Gillian has been miserable the past two days because she's constipated. A chip off the old block, I guess, but I never lived solely on breast milk. Which leads you to wonder, "HOW CAN ONE GET CONSTIPATED ON A LIQUID DIET??!!??" Anyway, the grunting, shrieking last night when I got to her belly during her massage, and straining tells me she's got problems. Big, hard ones.

Today Gillian woke bright eyed and bushy tailed promptly at 7 am, after spending most of the night in her cosleeper (this is our first foray into her-own-bedhood, so it is significant, but too much for this post, so we'll discuss later). She was her cheerful morning self-which we still can't understand (how do two nightowls produce a morning person?). From our delightful family morning in bed, the day rapidly deteriorated. Gillian was not interested in going down for a nap. She was very crafty and quite tricky pretending she was asleep until you put her down and started to tiptoe from the room. Then, just like a Bugs Bunny cartoon, her eyes popped open and you got made trying to abandon her in her moment of need (not really, but I imagine this is what she was thinking), and the howling began. Eventually, tag teaming the shower and morning beverages, we headed out to the baby mecca (a miracle that Sean stepped foot in the place; it was literally the second time in his life): Babies R' Us (BRU for the baby lingo savvy) to investigate back infant/toddler carriers. Sean wants one of these so he can work and wear The Bean...we have a front carrier, but since he works with chisels, planes, and blades, it would probably be a terrible idea to have her face right next to the wood he's working. We stopped for a quick lunch and Gillian thankfully didn't begin a fuss fest 'till I was two bites into my brownie, requiring me to inhale the last few bites and Sean and I made a fast exit (to avoid the withering and annoyed glances of the childless around us). At BRU, she was an angel, and had thankfully remembered how to suck on her pacifier and either fell asleep or pretended she was asleep so she wouldn't have to deal with the place (a sentiment I can completely understand). I felt all proud of MY baby at BRU; I mean, all the times before I had gone baby-less. People who saw me would have had no idea that the things I was buying were for my OWN infant. She was proof I BELONGED there. It was a good feeling. I was validated in the eyes of all those mothers and mothers to be as an honest-to-God legitimate peer-all those women I would never see again in my life. And It was Good.

Fast forward to home. Gillian nursed and fussed for over an hour. I rocked her for another half hour and she "fell asleep". This is in quotes because it was an act. I needed to run some errands, like grocery shopping, a quick trip to Target, and dry cleaning...not to mention the pharmacy for Gillian's reflux meds (another fun topic for later). Within 20 minutes of me walking out of the house I got a call from home. Sean was on the other end of the line asking if: 1) she was fed (Yes); 2) she had a clean diaper (Yes). Apparently she started yowling moments after my departure. Well, we NEEDED groceries, and SHE definitely needed some prune juice (what is used to help constipation in infants), so I forged ahead. Another call while at the grocery with a report that she had been screaming for an hour, which made me shop in record time. I got home and found Sean sitting in the rocking chair with sound eliminating headphones (the ones he uses in the shop) and the baby hysterical. Needless to say, she didn't love the prune juice I administered with an eyedropper till she had taken 2 tablespoons. After that even more traumatic experience (have you ever tried squeezing something into the throat of a screaming baby?), we settled down for a cozy nursing session to try to calm her nerves, and it worked. I threw in a nice clockwise tummy rub and all was well on earth again. She even delatched and cooed and smiled at me. "Oh, yeah...", I thought, "THIS is why I love you". Whew. Then as a bonus, the prune juice kicked in. Didn't clean things out completely, but we're on our way. I definitely see more prune juice in The Bean's future.