It’s the end of a very long day and I’m tired. I may be fighting the bug that Jules is fighting, but I’m not sure. I’ve left work early so I be there to help get the kids bathed and in bed. I know that the half-hour drive home will be my brief moment of peace before entering the chaos that our house has become.
Getting ready for his bath, the Bean sits on the potty doing his thing. I turn my back for a moment as a fountain of piss perfectly arcs from the potty and runs, like a yellow waterfall, from the vanity down to a rapidly growing puddle on the floor. I shout, “Push your penis back down!”, mentally adding that phrase to the ever-growing list of things I never thought I’d say. The stream subsides and I’m left to clean up a pool of piss, while the Bean plays happily in the tub.
Though I think my startled shout may have scared the boy off the potty for the foreseeable future.
At 4am, I awoken to a strange sound—primal grunting. “Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh!” Very loud grunting. “Aaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh!!!” I immediately know what this sound is.
Sprout has not pooped in 5 days. I’m told this happens sometimes with breast fed babies. But 5 days? Really? So in the middle of the night, I’m treated to the ferocious sounds of a 6 week-old baby trying to push out a poop, which I was later told was the consistency of wall paper paste. This lasts for an hour before I decide to sleep in the other room.
As of this morning, we’re going to start feeding her prune juice and me more coffee.