Graham's Poop Project

He did it! After greater than a week's hiatus from shitting, Graham dropped a deuce yesterday. I was the lucky recipient of The Big One.

It was an angst-ridden week waiting for the little rascal to shit (See previous post: "Drop a Deuce"). I tried prune juice, Karo syrup, rectal stimulation with a thermometer. Poor Graham took it all in stride. Then I went looking for answers on the net and found this reassuring article, and decided to leave the poor baby alone for a while. He was never uncomfortable until the night and morning before the big blow.

I, on the other hand, was very uncomfortable about the state of his bowels and spent the week neurosing. I had everyone on high poop alert - grandparents, friends, neighbors, daycare, babysitter. I even mentioned it to one of my patients who was asking me about her own baby's 3-day hiatus from shitting. She found Graham's week-long hiatus very reassuring.

All week I kept thinking something was coming because his farts kept getting worse and worse and worse. By the time anything actually happened his ass was releasing the worst Death Bombs you've ever smelled. When I walked by his nursery to Cole's room, I actually got a whiff of it emanating out from under the closed door as he slept...

Finally, yesterday morning, Graham started grunting and straining and looking like he was in pain. Dan had already encouraged me to call our pediatrician if it went longer than a week to see if he had any advice. It takes a lot to get me to call my pediatrician because it's like a sign of weakness -- I'm supposed to know this stuff. But watching him turn red-faced and cry made me pick up the phone. The recommended plan was to pump milk rather than put him on the boob, so I could add dark Karo syrup (1/2 tsp to every 2 oz, if anyone's curious) to every single feed until he pooped. Apparently more than a week without poop is concerning to the pediatrician, so if he didn't poop within 24 hours I was supposed to call back.

Graham overhead the phone call with the pediatrician, and I don't think he liked the plan to not put him on the boob. He made it a BIG project and worked it and worked it, grunting and straining for a good 3 or 4 hours... His timing is exquisite, because just as I was picking him up off the playmat to take him to the store for dark Karo syrup, I not only smelled the Death Bomb aroma, I felt like I was inhaling it. Sure enough, there it was. Now I know what a week's worth of baby shit looks like. (I had typed a description here but deleted it because it was just too gross. It suffices to say it was bad.)

Then the celebration began! "Graham, you POOPED!" You would think the child had just won a Nobel prize. He did look particularly proud, though. I called Dan and left a celebratory message on his voicemail at work. I called my parents and left a "He pooped! Yay!" cheer on their machine as well. It's amazing how parenthood changes what makes you excited. When Dan first bought me my fancy car, I was excited to roll around looking cool. Yesterday, As Graham and I left to get groceries after the Big Blow, the Benz was cruising down the street with the window down so I could scream "He Pooped!" and give the fist pump of joy to the neighbor on the front porch . What could be cooler than that?

Good job, Graham.