poop patrol

Cooper had a bout of extended diarrhea recently ... the kind that had me and the hubs asking, "Coopie, did you poo poo?," every time we caught a whiff of something foul. Well, now he's returning the favor...

This afternoon Coop and I were playing in the floor and he had me laughing so hard that I accidentally "let one slip." Coop heard it and immediately ran around my back, grabbed at the waistband of my jeans and said, "Poo poo? Poo poo?"

Aaaaaacccckkk! It was funny when he started doing this to Chris last weekend, but totally NOT funny now that he's moved on to inspecting my gadget.

I soooo need a nite out! ;) Thankfully I'm taking part in National Mom's Nite Out tomorrow ... sans poop patrol! Who-hoo!

mommy lesson No. 1,987 ...

Don't let the 1-year-old feed himself pancakes with syrup.

Why? He thinks it's funny to stick the pancakes to everything and everywhere, except for the inside of his mouth.

Why? He thinks it's funny to smear his face, hairline and ears with the syrup, much like Mommy would smear on a mud mask.

Why? He thinks it's funny when Mommy FREAKS OUT because every area on said 1-year-old's face, hairline and ears that was smeared with syrup turns into a raging red spot, much like Mommy's face after the mud mask has stayed on too long and singed her skin.

WTF???

The pics don't do justice, but I had to try ...

pooper scooper

WARNING: This entry is not for those who are easily quesied (that's a word, right?) or who get all bluggety bloop about poop. If you want a happy, warm and fuzzy read ... um, you may want to head elsewhere.

Now, for anyone still reading, here goes ...

I just used a baby spoon to scoop my son's diarrhea out of his diaper and into a specimen cup. I was THIS close to loosing my lunch (and dinner). Oh, the things the world asks a mommy to do (the daddy was hiding behind closed doors gagging at the mere thought of it all ... wiener!).

So, here's the deal. Twelve days ago Cooper came down with this whole not eating, not drinking and having diarrhea thing. He was cranky with a capital CRANK and bounced between our normally playful baby to a lethargic mess about every 10-15 minutes. He seemed to improve over the weekend, only to log six nasty diapers yesterday.

Now, nearly two weeks later, two calls to the nurse, three (yes, 3!!!) trips to the doc’s office and a handful of missed days at work, I am having to fill not one, not two, but a freakin’ five vials with poop for testing.

BLECK!!!

Upon hearing that unmistakable rumble in the diaper after dinner, there was a discussion, an actual debate, if you will, about which container to fill first!! Should we (meaning me) fill one of the three that have some kind of weird liquid in them, the one that needs immediate refrigeration or the one that requires that it be stuck in the freezer between Cooper’s Pedialite popsicles and the frozen chicken? (“We” went with the frozen one … it’ll last longer.)

Holy crap where has civilized conversation gone? Hurricanes? Nope. Politics? Nope. In our house, we talk shit … literally.

So, now I wait. I wait to hear the rumble. Then I grab another spoon and scoop, scoop, scoop the poop. Maybe I should call that guy from Dirty Jobs … this sooo has to qualify. Oh, and did I mention that the lab tech wants me to saran wrap Coop’s butt and make a hole in the front for his pickle to poke out AND then put on his diaper??? This is to supposedly help with collections. You've got to be shittin' me!

I just called work and let the powers that be know I'd be on poop watch tomorrow and would therefore be working from home. By far the most pathetic excuse for calling in ever ... well, if you don't count the time I called in sick on my third day at my first real job because I had sun poisoning from overdoing it in the tanning bed ... nice, clark, reaaaal nice.

Poop out.

p.s. The pics above are from one of the trips to the doc's office and of my "poop" project.