Sumo Poop

My kid got my poop gene. I know he did. Why? Because he goes for days without pooping. He is crabby, and mean, and terrible. Then, all of the sudden it's like a sumo wrestler shit in my kid's diaper. Then, he sleeps for one whole day and night. I would sleep better too if I had just expelled 1/10th of my own body weight. What's worse is that it's not uncommon in breastfed babies to not poop for days...so what happens is their waste starts to ROT INSIDE OF THEM. Yes, you read that right. Rotting poop. His farts have smelled like rotten eggs for days. I have been waiting for the moment to come to fruition. It always happens when you least expect it. Like getting him up from a nap, and talking on the phone to the eye doctor about your upcoming appointment, and trying to open his diaper, and holding the phone with your shoulder to be so shocked by what you have just unearthed that you DROP YOUR PHONE IN PEANUT BUTTER POOP. Except it's not peanut butter. It's something that must be in one of the layers of hell in Dante's Inferno.

Just to look down at your phone and hear a tiny voice saying "Hello?" Then, try to explain that you will call them back because you just dropped your phone in a pile of poop and refuse to pick it up to confirm my sponsor's social security number.

I didn't sign up for this.

I signed up for baby coo's and the occasional spit-up. Not Poopapalooza. Seriously, I am a little traumatized. Speaking of traumatized, Charlie is.

By his car seat. For the first 2 months we called his car seat "the coma maker." Now, I lovingly refer to it as the "Turkey Maker."
We took that long ass trip to WV. It was TERRIBLE. First hour...he was great....then he started crying, which made him sweat, which made him cry. He seriously looked like and felt like a basted turkey every time we would take him out of his seat. He sweat through his clothes and you would think a baby could only scream for like ohhh an hour or two and then would pass out. NOT MY CHILD. No, my child can cry for 7 hours. Straight. We would turn up the radio, he would cry louder. At one point, I thought we were all going to cry.

Now, even short car trips involve dramatic baby butterball crying. It's horrible. He comes out of the car seat coated in sweat. We look like terrible parents that enjoy the air conditioning in the front seat and apparently stick our child in a small portable car oven.

Remember this post. Never ask to borrow my phone.