It happens

Everyone seems to have a diaper blow out story.  If you type "diaper blow out" into google, you get over 2 million hits.

But this is not my story.

If you don't want to read about baby poop, you should probably stop reading now.  Because it's going to get gross.  And maybe a little graphic.  I'm not sure yet.

Sure, Hamburglar had a tiny blowout once when I was holding him and I got a little bit of poo on my arm, but it wasn't a big deal.  And he peed in his own mouth once, when he was about two weeks old, which was kind of funny.  He didn't think so, but come on.  He peed in his own mouth!  I can't wait to tell his prom date or future spouse.

Here's a little background:

Chumbercules stopped pooping on the weekends a little over a month ago, I think.  Or maybe longer.  I don't know.  I haven't changed a shitty diaper in a long time.  But he typically poops once a day, around the same time every day, except on weekends.  Mr. Adventure says the Monday poo is the worst thing in the world.

Last week, I had family come to town on Tuesday, so I left work early and picked up the babe at his normal poop time, so he didn't poop.  I'm assuming it's because he loves me best.  Or maybe because I traumatized him by asking, "Who did this to you? How did this get here?" every time I changed his poop diapers.  But who knows?

I was getting ready to leave work last Wednesday when I received this text message:

"So I put him in his chair so I can go out and smoke.  I heard him fart when I set him in the chair and figured I would just check his diaper after I got back.  When I came back in after smoking he was covered from his feet up in poop.  The chair was completely covered in poop.  And he was sucking on one of the straps, that was completely covered in poop.  Should have been more careful [since] he didn't poop yesterday."

So yeah.  Gross, right?

We just had a three day weekend and I thought I would be changing a poo diaper yesterday, but nope.  Dude held it for an extra day and this morning, at 8 a.m., I received a text that said, "There's the poop."

In related news, our ducky bathtub has been getting plenty of use.

First Mother's Day, more teeth and stories to tell

Here, in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave... Mother's Day was Sunday.  It's a Hallmark Holiday, but Slate has an interesting piece from 2009 on the origin of Mother's Day.

My oldest (and current favorite) brother came to town on Friday and I brought him and his wonderful wife to a drag show at one of the gay bars downtown.  It was Caravan of Glam, a Portland drag troup, and they were spectacular.  One of the girls was doing back flips in 4 or 5 inch heels.  Later in the night, she kicked her heels off and did a no-handed back flip!  Phenomenal!  Mr. Adventure stayed home with our favorite baby, and it was nice being able to go out and enjoy myself and not feel bad/worry that Chubs McBabylegs wasn't sleeping or was terrorizing whomever we were able to trick into babysitting while we both went out.

Saturday, we did some yard work then went over to Grandpa's for a bit.  The grandparents remarked on the wee babe's ability to pull himself up on to things and his knack for finding the two things on the floor that he shouldn't be playing with (the power strip and the dog's toy bone).  The dog, however, saw the baby going for her bone and she grabbed it and ran off before he could get to it.  Probably a smart move.

Mr. Adventure handled all the night wakings on Saturday night so I could sleep.  I guess Chumbercules thought it was an all night party with dad and I woke up Sunday morning and saw text messages from 2:30am proclaiming the babe was still awake.  And he was up by 7.

We did a few things around the house, then we grabbed lunch on our way out of town to the hot springs resort.  We went to the same one that Chumbercules and I went to on Easter.  He had even more fun this time and was, once again, a big hit with the little girls.  There was another baby there who was born five days before Hamburglar and both the babes were delivered by the same midwife!  I don't even know how it came up, but it was kind of  a Georgianna love fest for a few minutes, because I love my midwife.  I kind of want to have 30 more babies just so I can spend more time with her.  But I dont' think that's really a good reason to procreate.  "I liked my doctor so much, I just kept having babies!"

Something I learned towards the end of my pregnancy that has reinforced itself since, is that women love to tell their birth story.  Or stories.  I think the first tellings or writings of the birth story are kind of a right of passage, but I was at a birthday party a couple of months ago, I think Hamburglar was only 3 or 4 months at the time, and it was like these moms were clamoring to have their birth stories heard over each other.  So, if you feel like you haven't had the opportunity to tell your birth story enough, here is a link to TheBirthSurvey.  It's also an excellent resource to view intervention rates and information about people's personal experiences and opinions with specific doctor's and midwives.

In other news, we are up to six teeth now!  SIX TEETH!  Chumby isn't even 8 months old yet (though he will be in four more days).  Realizing he is nearly 8 months old, and gazing upon his shark-like mouth, I realized we should probably be feeding him solids on the reg, so I started giving him organic peas.  I don't know that he likes them, but he ate some of them and made some pretty hilarious faces.

You know what he does like, though?  The Talking Heads.  And he thinks it's hilarious when I sing Psycho Killer.  He's also been watching people's mouths really closely when they talk.  So, he babbles, he pulls himself up on things, and he's still mobile, but he doesn't sit up by himself.  Mr. Adventure was asking me if it's normal and I have no idea.  So, I just told him yes.

I want to take Chumbercules to the beach this summer.  I think he will like the sand and the waves.

And I think that's it.