I keep looking for a way to write about something else. How about, uh, the book I’m reading? Oh yeah, right. It’s “What To Expect: The First Year” while Grey was playing before bedtime (“By four months, your child should be able to play a Chopin sonata at tempo”). I had a fantastic weekend, but I don’t have anything pithy to share about it. It was just lovely and enjoyable. (Except for the bit where Grey threw up on one of our guests…) And the highlight of yesterday was buying more paper towels at Target.
So I guess I just have to get this out of my system. (Heh.)
Poop. Poop poop poop. I thought that parents who talked and thought excessively about poop were micromanagers or prurient. Or maybe their children were so tediously boring that they had nothing else to talk about.
I’m here to tell you the truth. We can’t help it. A huge amount of our time, attention and concern revolves around what goes into and out of our children.
A week ago Saturday we started Thane on solid foods. See prior post including cute oatmeal smear on eyebrow. I wasn’t too surprised that the oatmeal didn’t appear at the other end right away. A day passed. A few days. A week. Over a week.
Thane got really, really uncomfortable. Very squirmy. I think this is directly related to his new trick of rolling onto his belly and sticking his arms through the bars of his crib. He just keeps moving in an attempt to get comfortable, and he can’t. Although still very good-natured, he spent the weekend SQUIRMING. There are more comfortable things for a breast-fed baby to do.
I finally called his doctor. I was pretty sure it is at least rare to die of constipation, but you start to worry, you know? Happily, Thane likes prunes. He went through an entire jar in one sitting last night. And finally, things began to move. Even more happily, they did so in a good, Presbyterian, duly-and-in-order sort of way, instead of, er, explosively. Thane seems much happier and relaxed than he did this weekend.