It's been a long time since I've pontificated on the wonder that is poop. I've been thinking a lot about poop lately, as Piglet has gone on a six day poopie strike. I know it's in there, I know it's coming, and I have a strong suspicion what it's going to smell like. My suspicion stems from the raunchiness of what rips out of Piglet's tail about every ten minutes. It's like hanging out with a sewage treatment plant. What used to be sweet fluffy laughable little poots, can now only be described as Big Hairy Man Farts. (Sorry, mom, but there's genuinely no other word that applies here.) (To the rest of you, we aren't allowed to say that word in our house.) They are vicious and nasty.
Being thoroughly interested in poop as only I can be, I consulted with friends, nurses, and the local pharmacist. The consensus was that the dook needs to come out. The methods varied, but the one I am going to attempt this evening involves glycerin suppositories and a controlled environment. My favorite suggestion I got was this: "Have you considered manual rectal stimulation?" Um, no. I have not.
Update to follow....I know you're waiting eagerly.
The next day....
I had to sleep on it before I could publish the results of our experiment. The pharmacist had given me very specific warnings based on his own experience and told me that "It" would happen within about three minutes and that sometimes you had time to get a diaper on them before the explosion. I was ready.
I lined the changing table, donned old clothing, and stood, poised and ready, finger in the insert position. I inserted. Like rapid fire, I diapered, I taped, and I stood back. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I grew bored. I put another diaper on top of the first to contain the certain inevitable explosion. Waiting. Waiting. I looked at the clock. Five minutes had passed. I was officially bored and, let's face it, kind of disappointed. This was the kind of thing I live for. I went for the thermometer, unwrapped the layers of diapers and went spelunking. Poke, poke. Nothing. Nothing! Well, nothing but a highly annoyed, slightly violated baby.
Piglet was crying and hungry, so I carefully swaddled him in his diaper layers, protective liner and a lap pad and went to feed him. An hour later, still no action from his dirty south. By this point, I had decided that his dook was clearly of an advanced state not to be matched by this gentle suppository. The bottle said it would work in fiften minutes to an hour. Ninety minutes later found Piglet happily nestled in daddy's lap and mommy writing the top part of this post. I was starving and we couldn't go out to dinner until that poo showed itself. Just at the conclusion of the post, I heard urgent cries from the family room:
Mike: AAAAAAAUGH! The smell! The smell! We have action! PIGS!!!!
Me: [rushing to the site] Is he pooping? Is there poop? Lemme see the poop.
Piglet: gurgle, gurgle
Mike: Oh! The smell! Smell it! It's nasty!! Baby, it's bad. It's BAD! [desperate, frightened look in his eyes]
Me: [giggling] I see it! Look! It's oozing out the leg! It's like a poop milkshake! Check it out! [run to get camera]
Mike: You can't take pictures, you sicko!
Piglet: [noise of glee]
The cleanup took a good twenty minutes and involved half a box of wipes, the sullying of everything on the changing table, three or four audible gags from Mike, and a bath for Piglet. After all that, I was ready for dinner and a beer.