gearhead mama

M has pretty much always taken her baths with me. We figured out pretty quick that it’s far easier that way, and in the early days we only washed her once a week anyway. Now that a bath is part of her nightly bedtime routine (although we still only use soap once a week … or after big poop blowouts), it has also proven convenient, because I just hand her off to R when she’s done, then take a shower while he diapers, massages, dresses and reads to her. By the time he’s done I’m out of the shower, dressed and ready to nurse her.

The down side to this is that I’m always somewhat at risk. Specifically, while bubbles are nice, that’s about the only thing I like added to my bath water. No pee, no poop, thankyouverymuch. M has been surprisingly obliging, and I have yet to experience the joy of bodily excretions in my bathwater (except for saliva and the occasional tear, but that doesn’t count). This is not to say that R hasn’t done his best to bring on the inevitable. From day one he has been exhorting M to do her business in the tub, gleefully anticipating the mayhem, chaos and sheer exhilaration of knowing his wife is sitting in a tub full of shit.

While M has not yet rewarded his efforts, she’s come close. She has been returned to me several times so I could rinse off the “golden shower” that blew through while she was lying on the changing table. And the other day she left R a cute little turd in the towel … another near miss.

A few weeks ago was one of the rare times M took a bath without me. Just her in the tub, alone in a few inches of water. R had been tasked with the bath, and he made the mistake of plunking her in the water without checking her diaper first. And so he finally got his tub full of shit, with no one but his daughter to enjoy it. There was plenty of chaos and mayhem, though.

After listening to a bunch of, “Don’t touch that!” “Oh god, no, don’t put that in your mouth!” “Ack! Don’t touch that either!” I finally took pity on him and went to help.

You may have noticed that there hasn’t been much poop discussion of late. Or maybe you haven’t noticed. Or maybe you’re just glad things have been less excretory in nature. But you see, that’s what new parents talk about. Poop. And sleep. If you see a group of new moms hanging out on a park bench, you can bet their conversation goes something like this:

Mom #1: “Her poop is still a butterscotch color, but it’s thicker, like pudding, and there aren’t any curds. It used to be thinner with a lot of curds. Do you think I should worry?”

Mom #2: “I don’t know, but mine hasn’t pooped in three days and I’m starting to freak out.”

Mom #3: “Three days?? That’s nothing! Mine went TEN DAYS once, and of course waited until we were out to eat to have his blow out – and you would not believe how much poop comes out after ten days. It got all over us and the booth, and it was so loud and stank so bad that people from three tables away were staring at us thinking one of us had let out the most obnoxious fart on earth. And this was the same day he only napped for 30 minutes, so he screamed through the whole meal …”

You have to understand that new parents are so sleep-deprived that the operating power of their brains is roughly equivalent to five brain cells. If you try to talk about something as sophisticated as politics, or art, or poetry, they just stammer for a while, then trail off with a vacant look in their eyes, and a trickle of drool runs out the corner of their mouth. And this reminds them of the time their child drooled at the same time as he pooped, and they’re off and running again.

So in an effort to maintain my new parent quota of poop discussion, I am pleased to report that M’s bowel habits have regained some sense of normalcy. Meaning that she is averaging a poop every other day – occasionally twice a day, occasionally every 4 days, but mostly every other day.

Not to say that we haven’t had any poop adventures, because we have. Like the time we fed her avocado, and it came out looking the same as it did going in. Or the time an unidentified black object appeared in her diaper, and R bravely fished it out for dissection (cat fur – mmmmm, yummy!).

But there has been no more need for suppositories or karo syrup or any other artificial means of poop extraction. For this, I am infinitely grateful. Not surprisingly, M is too. There has also been a significant reduction is nighttime gassiness (although we’ve had a bit of a relapse the last few nights – making The Experiment all the more difficult). And we owe it all to that wonderful goddess Kelly – wise practitioner of craniosacral therapy. I have many things to say about CST, but will wait until the birth story is complete and posted. Stay tuned …

If you’ve been following along, you’re aware that M enjoys kicking me all the night long, and I never get any sleep. I have always attributed this kicking to her gassiness, because once some sort of flatulence is emitted, the kicking ceases – at least for an hour or two. Sometimes no flatulence is emitted, and the kicking does NOT cease, and that is when we have a really bad night.

Well, about a week ago I was suffering from hot flashes during the night (one of those wonderful side effects of breast feeding that no one ever tells you about). My mother often complains about hot flashes, and then strips down to a skimpy, ratty tank top with no bra, and R and I pinch each other under the table and try not to barf. I have never had much sympathy for her, and generally find all of the whining and arm-flapping and turning on of fans to be really annoying. So I’m a little ashamed to admit that I now have a better understanding of her suffering, because if I can’t cool down RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I get so hot I can see the steam rising off my skin and it’s actually painful. So I woke up in the middle of a hot flash and did my best to balance the intense need to fling the covers across the room with my overwhelming desire to not wake M. I managed to get myself (and her) uncovered, and sighed with relief at the knowledge that spontaneous combustion was no longer an imminent danger.

So M and I spent the better part of the rest of the night uncovered. And M also spent the better part of the rest of the night NOT kicking me. This was a pleasant change, and somewhere in the dark, cobwebbed recesses of my brain, I wondered if there was a correlation. For grins, I kept the covers off her the next night (now that takes skill – covering me and not covering her, while we lie side-by-side … us mothers, we’re a talented bunch). Lo and behold, there was very little kicking. Hmmm. Since then, I’ve dressed her in a fleece sleeper and left her uncovered at night, and overall, the amount of kicking has decreased dramatically. The last two nights have been an exception, but as usual, she is not pooping (we are on day SEVEN), so I think that has more to do with it than anything.

Okay, so WHY does not covering her up make her less gassy? I spent a lot of time pondering this question, because, well, in my former life I was an engineer. There. I’m out of the closet. I am a geeky engineer, and I therefore need to understand WHY things are the way they are. Otherwise I lie in bed at night and can’t sleep. So, why oh why is she less gassy when I don’t cover her up? My brain finally settled on the Ideal Gas Law:

PV = nRT

For our purposes, all we care about is P (pressure) and T (temperature). We assume that flatulence behaves as an ideal gas, and that V, n and R all remain constant. If those assumptions are true, then as T increases, P must also increase. In other words, the hotter M gets, the more pressure her flatulence exerts, and the greater the discomfort and the kicking.

I was feeling rather self-congratulatory about this solution, but on further examination decided that while it may appear to be a very geeky, scientific, and tidy explanation for our little problem, it’s actually probably quite a stretch to apply the Ideal Gas Law to the functioning of the human body. For one thing, we’re warm-blooded mammals, and this means that our body temperature rarely fluctuates from 98.6 deg F. Even when roasting under a bunch of covers. And then there’s the small matter of assuming flatulence behaves as an ideal gas. And really when you think about it, the colon is probably somewhat elastic, so V (volume) may not remain constant after all. So while it’s possible the Ideal Gas Law explains the situation, I think it’s more likely the following:

“Hey stupid. It’s hot. How many times do I have to kick you before you take the fucking covers off?”

M had a new record - 8 poopless days. I finally broke down and gave her a suppository. Five minutes later she had the hugest, stinkiest, nastiest poop I’ve ever seen. The diaper change was an utter fiasco - it was on her hands, feet, legs, clothes, changing table, me and R. All 3 of us needed an outfit change by the time we were finished. And after about 6 wipes, we gave up and decided to just give her a bath.

In honor of this event, the following Poop Haikus were contributed by R (my darling husband, who thinks my blog spends too much time talking about poop and lack of sleep).

having it’s revenge
the dump that just won’t come
please make number two

obstinate poo-poo
making daughter gas-thrashy
squeeze, squirt, levee burst

look up to the moon
tidal forces push poop out
poop gas go bye-bye

enticed with a prod
pooply squirt from underside
diaper near blown off

not chunky but smooth
frosting on baby’s behind
wait a week for that?

And on the sixth day, She said, “Let There Be Poop!” And the clouds parted, a golden light shone down, the angels sang, and there was poop. Lots of it.

And now the parents can get some sleep. Maybe. For a couple of days.

Unfortunately, this is a motivational cheer, and not a celebratory one. M has not pooped in 4 days, and I got 3 hours of sleep last night (in 15 minute increments).

This is how M feels about it.

Have you seen the movie Touching the Void? It’s about a guy who breaks his leg while mountain climbing with his buddy. Their solution is to tie themselves together, and slide injured guy down the side of the mountain while uninjured guy holds on. In the dark. Problems arise when injured guy slides off the edge of a cliff, and uninjured guy doesn’t know what happened (remember, it’s dark). After a while, he can’t maintain the weight on the rope, and cuts it. Injured guy falls some insane distance into a crevasse, and defies all laws of physics and nature by surviving. Uninjured guy figures out that injured guy fell and (understandably) assumes he’s dead, and gets his own ass off the mountain. Against all odds, injured guy finds a way out of the crevasse, and drags his bruised, broken and battered body off the mountain – one inch at a time, thinking he’s going to die every step of the way.

That. That is how I feel.

One of the last times I had M napping in the sling (can’t do this anymore, as she’s gotten so heavy my bad back just can’t deal), I had a desperate need to pee. I wasn’t about to remove the sling and wake M (a capital offense in this household), so I toddled into the bathroom with her in tow. For whatever reason, her configuration rendered me unable to reach the toilet paper. I called R in to help. He pulled off a few squares and handed them over. I looked at him patiently and said, “More.” He pulled off a few more. I said, “More.” This was repeated until I felt I had sufficient volume to prevent pee from soaking through and getting all over my hand (I mean, that’s what toilet paper is for, right?). R was rather horrified at the number of squares this required, and proceeded to inform me that I was in gross violation of the “Three Square Rule”.

Turns out, when his illustrious mother was potty training him, he was informed that he was allowed to use three squares of toilet paper per wipe. Now, let’s step back for a minute. When do men wipe? That’s right – men don’t need to wipe for a pee, they ONLY wipe for a poop.

THREE SQUARES FOR A POOP?????

And I let this man touch me?

I’ve started taking M to a massage therapist (Kelly) who specializes in craniosacral therapy (CST). I’ve read on several occasions what CST is, and the theory behind it, etc., and I’m only sort of embarrassed to admit that I don’t really understand it and could not even begin to coherently explain it to someone else. All I know is that the chiropractor I turned to in utter desperation used it to turn my screaming, unhappy, I won’t nurse without crying so hard I can’t breathe baby into something that resembled a human baby, for which I will be forever thankful. If you want to know more about it, look it up in Google – I’m sure there’s a good explanation out there somewhere. We’re seeking this treatment again because I’m hoping it will help with M’s digestive / no poop / gassy at night problems, in addition to rooting out any remaining trauma that’s lingering from the deep suctioning they did at her birth (and thus the screaming, unhappy, I won’t nurse without crying so hard I can’t breathe baby).

Kelly was educated at the respected Upledger Institute, and comes highly recommended by numerous people. We’ve seen her twice so far, and both M and I like her a lot. It’s her opinion that the digestive upset is a “structural” problem (as in, not emotional/trauma-related), and is connected to a tightness / misalignment in her pelvic / hip area that’s affecting her bowel. She thankfully agrees with me that M’s gassiness is not related to my diet, and gave me permission to eat as many chocolate chip cookies as I want (not in exactly those words, but it’s what I inferred). She does, however, think there is still some work to be done relating to the suctioning trauma, and somehow the digestive upset seems to be tied up in it. She said M hasn’t yet revealed her “treasure map” so to speak, so she still hasn’t figured out exactly what’s going on. All I know is I hope she can help us, and we get to the point where I can SLEEP at night without getting kicked for hours on end. Because moms everywhere deserve sleep.

M didn’t poop for six days. That’s right. SIX. Her poops have been much less frequent for a while now … usually once a day, sometimes once every other day. Then she went 3.5 days without pooping. I quickly figured out that no poops equals no sleep (for me). The longer she goes without pooping, the gassier she gets, and the more she squirms at night, and the less I sleep. I thought 3.5 days was bad, but six – SIX DAYS?!?! It was awful. The last three nights I barely slept. All I have to say is thank god R is on vacation right now, so he can take her in the morning and I can at least sleep for an hour or two (when I’m lucky … some days I just lie in bed and think about everything I should be getting done, and simultaneously achieve the miraculous feats of not getting anything done and not sleeping).

So the eagerly awaited poop finally arrived yesterday. And let me tell you. When a baby doesn’t poop for six days, THAT SHIT STINKS! It was the nastiest poop she’s ever had (and yes, I know things are only going to get worse when we start her on solids).

So I was looking forward to last night with great anticipation – finally, I would get some sleep. But she was GASSY AGAIN. Not as bad, but still gassy. Being a mother is definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but is incredibly rewarding and I love M and it’s exciting to see her learn and grow. But being a mother on no sleep makes me wish I was dead.

And even though I’ve read that breastfed babies can safely go up to ten days (YES, TEN DAYS!!!) without pooping, I’ve decided that I just don’t like this not pooping every day thing. Unfortunately, like everything else I’d like to change about M (for example, the fact that she won’t nap except in my arms or the sling), I have the feeling IT DOESN’T MAKE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE WHAT I THINK. There’s a new boss in town, and I’m not sure I like her.