Overall it was a nice relaxing trip to Michigan. Which does not make for good blogging material. So I’m going to have to take the tiniest snafus and inflate them into an epic drama.
Ready? Here goes.
When I picked up Elliot on Wednesday afternoon he hadn’t pooped since the morning. That night we didn’t think much of it. But when on Thursday morning he still hadn't pooped, we were a little surprised, and by Thursday night there was an ongoing discussion about what to do.
We were considering manual disimpaction, or at least Hannah was encouraging me to consider it. (I've done it once before on Elliot, with the tip of my pinkie, and it was so successful that I’m permanently traumatized). I demurred, which I do like this: “Hmm, yeah, okay. Hmm.” Right hand on chin, left hand right elbow.
When we woke up Friday and he still hadn’t pooped, my demurrals were becoming less well-received. There was a certain “what the hell are we going to do?” feel in the air. Was he impacted? Was his diet all fakakta?
Oh, I forgot to mention we were starting a four-hour drive to Chicago Friday morning.
All five of us handled it with aplomb. Including the constipated gentleman himself. Kate boiled a few prunes, and we invented a new commercial product: Prune Water! It’s what’s left over after the gooey fibrous part of the prunes are mushed up and separated. How has no one thought of this before? You charge $2.99 and it makes your baby poop!
During the drive to Chicago, Hannah led us on a brainstorming session and took the idea one step further, elaborating an entire spectrum of baby waters, with different mixtures of vitamins and nutrients depending on where your baby’s head (and intestine) is at. We collectively came up with a brand name for this product: Ga-Gaia (because water comes from the earth, and it would all be organic you see).
Don’t anyone try to steal this idea, I hereby copyright it on this blog.
The sad part about this blog post--- well, there are many. First, if writing about baby poop is pathetic, how much more pathetic is it to write about not poop?
Second, I can’t even remember the exciting ending of the story. (spoiler alert: he poops) It was sometime while we were in Chicago, roughly 6-8 hours after feeding him the prune water. But the details escape me. If you really care, email one of the other participants in the drama.
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