The straight poop

I was going to do an Overheard column last week. However, since we've had some sort of stomach bug tearing through the house for the past two weeks there has been precious little else talked about. And it really isn't funny. At all.

The following phrases have been on a continuous loop around here:

Did you poop?

Do you need to poop?

My belly hurts. (Fiona)

Poop hurts. Bottom hurts. (Owen)

Mommmmmmmyyyyy. Poop. (Owen)

Got poop. (Owen)

To which, Jim responds: What are you telling me for? Your mother is right over there. (Thanks, man.)

(Did I mention that I changed eight, yes EIGHT, poopy diapers one day? That's just obscene.)  

Ohhhh. Not again. (Danny)

Okay. Don't move. I need to clean this up.

DON'T. TOUCH. ANYTHING.

Wash your hands. Please.

WAIT. Don't flush it. I need to see it. (Really, I've been inspecting poop regularly.)

The classic B.R.A.T. (bananas, rice, applesauce and toast) diet didn't banish or slow it. And I was not about to try the 24-hour liquid diet on three kids who would likely try to gnaw my leg off, even if I did offer them an endless buffet of popsicles. Every meal and snack had to be carefully vetted. My mind is numb from analyzing what my kids should and should not eat. It's like I'm some kind of poop chemist.

By the end of this whole ordeal, I was afraid to feed my children anything for fear of what would come out the other end. No one ever tells you about this stuff in the parenting books.

That is all.