We have, at last, after TWO WEEKS of the evil wicked mean and nasty rotavirus: normal poop.
That a whole family's existence can be so pinned upon the state of poop is astounding, yet entirely common for parents of infants and young children. Do I hear an Amen?
The poo poo boundaries of old become completely non-existent, even for one sort of curmudgeonly mid-western Scandanavian Mister who isn't generally given to talking to just anyone about anything, let alone bodily functions. And yet, when witnessed passing upstairs Good Neighbor Ben in the foyer in recent days, our very own Daddy Booty was heard to say, "He's still having weird poops, but he's feeling better," prompting Ms. Booty Homemaker to step out into said foyer and apologize for the way effluvia has taken over the lives of this one family with very little ability to hold back on the shit talk.
To that end, I can say that Shit Watch 2006 continues, but with a new focus: The teething poop. Some of you know that of which I write, I KNOW you do.
Ziggy can't catch a break. What with all manner of new skills being honed (from commando crawling to command of the pincer grasp), a new complexity to his emotional life (we're talking Interiors for the infant set, thank you, m'am), and a voracious suckling to go along with an early growth spurt into month nine, the boy is cutting his two top middle teeth. Which means copious ammounts of drool. And the aforementioned teething poop.
While Googling something about rotaviral poop recently,-- oh, would I have saved the link!!-- I came across some daddy-man's blog which talked about a poop log he and his wife created for their young darling. The very best part of the entry detailed not the poop content or consistency, but the couple's short hand and acronyms for the log, my most favorite bit being TAE, for Total Ass Explosion, a phrase so brilliant, I can not help but use it for these teething blowouts, and frankly, whenever there's an opportunity.
It is far too enjoyable for a nearly forty year old woman to say Total Ass Explosion. My Beloved Mister is often alternately amused and appalled by my base childlike humor. I make no apologies.
Say it with me, now: Total Ass Explosion. Now, don't you feel good?