I love Canada. Everyone I've ever met from Canada is really friendly, I hear there are some beautiful cities there, they have the whole national healthcare thing, they seem pretty liberal, and, according to my site's stat counter, Crabbydad is the number one result if you do a search for "your a farter, gassy gas, farty fart, smelly poop, poopy doo, lets smell one together, stinky smell" on google.ca! Whomever you are, person from Ontario, Toronto, Canada who came to my site at 13:40:28 this afternoon -- Welcome, and I hope I'm fulfilling all your gassy-gas-farty-fart needs, eh.
Speaking of turds, poor Miss O had a big'n that was stuck the other night. Poor kid -- she gets constipated pretty often, mainly due to the fact that she shuns most liquids. It sucks when your kid makes that switch from sippy-cup to grown-up cup. She used to suck down gallons of bevvies with the sippy-cup, mainly because she was able to carry it around with her -- upstairs, outside, in the crapper... wherever. Once they switch to the big kid cup, though, they pretty much have to drink at the kitchen table, and you have to keep yelling into the other room, "Miss O! Come on in here and have some more milk, will ya?!" Which she never does. I'm telling ya, the sippy-cup was better than a saline IV drip.
So, yeah, Miss O was trying to get this fucking ass-teroid to pass through her tiny bunghole the other night, and she was bumming hard. Luckily, the old lady was dealing with it this time. The last time this happened (a couple of years ago), I was "handling" the situation, and I ended up grabbing the mongo-turd with a wad of toilet paper and "delivering" it manually. That's when you're officially a parent -- when you pull a petrified BM from your kid's ass. I think my "You're A Dad Now, Brother!" certificate came in the mail the next day. I don't know how the old lady ended up coaxing out the timid turd, but I know that when it finally did come out, Miss O looked her right in the eyes and said, "I love you, Mom!" Almost makes holding another person's butt-biscuit in your hand worthwhile.
On a positive note, Miss O drank a hell of a lot more this weekend than usual. Which probably means she'll have diarrhea tomorrow.
Crap.
4 comments:
I have a kid butt story.
I've been hanging out with my niece and nephew a lot this week (my bro had some surgery, he's okay but out of childcare commission).
I got June Bug (5-1/2) and Run-Around-Like-A-Nut-Boy (4) in the tub, hair washed and dried off. JB put on her pink Strawberry Shortcake night gown. No panties.
She turned on the television in her parents room and was standing inches from it, sucking her thumb and holding her blankie (Did I mention she's 5-1/2?). Little Brother was streaking around the room flinging a Christmas card around. He came up behind JB and stuck the card in her bum and walked away. All I could sputter was "Hey, that's not a mailbox!".
The really disturbing thing was that the June Bug did not even flinch.
I won't share any of my pulling poop stories from my working in nursing home days. And, thanks for reminding me of them....ick.
Perhaps a personalized-by-Miss O sized sports bottle to carry around would encourage Miss O to drink more liquids while not having to go back to the sippie cup? Cheap plastic sports bottles sell for next to nothing and can be decorated with paint or permanent markers and whatnot. It's art AND health all at once!
Of course, I don't know, maybe turd surfing is more fun ...
:) Hope your day is good!
Classic, Nora! At least after putting the card in the mailbox, Little Brother didn't try to raise the flag for the mail carrier. (And I have no idea what that even means.)
Rose, I like how you think. Not a bad idea. And I'll fill the sports bottle with Gatorade's new flavor: Prune Juice Frost!
Wait, is this Crabbydad or an episode recap for "Being Bobby Brown"?
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