It's been awhile since we've had to sound the poop alarm. But today has been particularly poopy day. Come to think of it, it's been a particularly poopy week.
After dinner, as Dan was playing, I heard the very loud, familiar sound of, well, my son loading his diaper. Not again, I thought. This was poopy diaper number four. Yep, you read that right. And the worst part was that he soiled one of the cheap diapers that often leak. So up the stairs I go, again. Jim took one look at me, holding Squirmy McSqirm under my arm like a football, and shouted "Poop" as he pointed out the brown trail on his leg.
OH NO! POOP! POOP! POOP!
I held him at arm's length as if he were toxic waste. Jim took him and ordered, "Go up and start the bath." So, in the bathroom, we're trying to remove his clothes and socks without spreading the vile bile. I never thought it would take two adults to change one poopy baby.
I considered calling the doctor to ask if three to four poops a day is normal. But, instead, I just called my best friend, the nurse, and asked her. As it turns out, according to Nurse Jen, he could be teething. Yet another thing no one tells you ... babies poop more when they're teething.
I hate poop.
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