I should create a category called “poop.” I talk enough about it. My birth story revolved around the absence of poop, my conversations with other young people revert to poop, I get excited about baby poop; poop, poop, poop.
Today’s poop story takes the chocolate cake, however. It is the poop story to end all poop stories.
And it begins with a ride to the grocery store.
O is eight months old and with this comes the transition to human food, or adult food, or solids, whatever you want to call it.
The transition has been a smooth one for the most part. She enjoys solid food, has had fun learning to pick pieces up by herself and so forth.
Her bowels, however, haven’t taken so lightly to the shift. For a while, her diapers were full of mushy green stuff. Then, they just stopped producing waste, like a garbage disposal out of order.
Every few hours, she would stare off into space and turn red, trying her little hardest to squeeze something out. Even when I thought, okay, for sure this is it, I would open an empty diaper a few minutes later.
Well, not today, folks.
On the way to the grocery store, Oakley began grunting her constipated grunt. I watched her in the car seat mirror turn red, and then angry. She began to whine; she was clearly in pain.
I wasn’t going to let her take this lying down. Actually, that’s exactly what I planned to do. I pulled over into the back of a parking lot and climbed into the backseat. I took her out of her car seat and laid her out flat.
By the time I took her diaper off, O was ready to play, completely forgetting the torment of her large intestine (or her small one, or both for that matter, I was never good at biology.)
“Focus,” I said to her as I held her bare legs in the air.
After about thirty seconds of grunting, I realized most of the sounds were coming from me. Was this what it was like to watch me give birth to her? Holding my hand and telling me it was all be over soon?
I wiped a bead of sweat from my brow.
Finally, O was ready to really give it a go. I held her legs in the air for optimal pushing. Her tiny fingernails scratched at the leather seats.
I could see it then; a rock hard, lumpy turd. It was glorious. I thought about nothing but how great she would feel after this journey concluded.
Maybe I had to use my hands, maybe I had to really get gross there in the back seat with my infant daughter; frankly, I don’t feel like we know each other well enough yet for me to confirm or deny this.
All I can say is that after about a fifteen-minute detour to an empty parking lot, we finally got to the store in one piece.
Well, a few pieces were missing.
A few lumpy, green, har——Okay, okay, I’m done.