You've Got to Be Sh*tting Me

**WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS ENTRY WHILE EATING**

How many times a day do you go to the bathroom? I'm not talking tinkles either, here, people. I'm talking crap. Let's lay it all out there. Let it flow, if you will. How many times a day do you have to drop the kids off at the pool?

Are you a one time a day kind of person, get it out of the way right when you wake up? Maybe twice? First thing in the morning, then after dinner perhaps? Or, like me, do you go for the daily trifecta? Morning, midday, and evening? Yes, I'm a well-oiled machine.

I ask not because I feel you need to know the frequency of my bowel movements. But because my daughter clears her colon about as infrequently as the average person flosses. You need to take care of your teeth, people, they're the only ones you're gonna get.

We were puzzled in the beginning. A day actually went by without Penelope dirtying her diaper. Wet ones, yes. But she's like a set of odd integers. No number two. Yes, I just dropped an algebra reference on you. Figure it out. That reminds me of when I used to ask my mother for help with my homework and she would respond, "Daddy's good at math." Yes, he is, but this is History homework, mom.

Anyway...

Another day went by, and nothing once again. That's two with no two. We thought about how we would feel if we went that long without going, and our puzzlement was upgraded to concern. What kept us calm was Penelope. She didn't seem to mind at all. Still happy as a pig in... Actually, that's not an appropriate reference here, now is it?

Then came day three. Still not a squirt. This is a girl who used to dump in her pants more than a corporate polluter with a sweetheart tax deal dumps in a river. Now that river has run dry. From concern to amazement. Simply because she still doesn't seem phased. If I had not pooped in three days, I wouldn't be fitting into my pants. I wouldn't be able to walk. Not that Penelope could walk, either. Where has all the poo-poo gone? Long time passing.

Then it came, like a crash of thunder. Without warning. Without provocation. Without medication. Like an uninvited guest. Loud, rude, intruding. She dropped a bomb that required three wipes to clean up, and a bath. It's like when we let the recyclables pile up and don't take them out until the crate we keep them in is overflowing to the point that empty Propel bottles are crashing to the floor.

That dam done broke. I am shocked that a diaper can hold that much. She wasn't a mess, other than under the diaper. This is my official endorsement for Pampers Swaddlers. They hold such a gross amount of waste, putting the Hefty bag to shame. Now she's as happy as a pig in sh*t.

Her poop comes every three days, appropriately enough, keeping a schedule similar to the trash collector. This past week, she inexplicably went - get ready for this - five days - FIVE DAYS!! without pooping!! FIVE DAYS!! Can you imagine? What bodily function do you think you can do without for five days?

But you may surprised to find out that this - here comes that word again - is normal! Our doctor says breastfed babies can go up to seven days - a freakin' week!!! - without pooping. As long as it comes out soft and yellow, like the mustard on your corner vendor's hot dog, she's fine.
I mention mustard because my wife recently mistook some poop for the spicy condiment, and proceeded to lick it off of her finger. That's what happens when your baby goes days without going. It happens when you least expect it, and my poor wife, who was eating a sandwich at the time, did not expect it.

She realized it immediately. The connection was instantaneous, because Penelope was overdue, and was, as a result, leaking a little. She hopped up, and tried to convey the message to me, but all that came out of her mouth was incomprehensible babble that made the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons sound like Socrates.

I knew right away, anyway. I grabbed the baby and headed for the nursery. My wife headed for the bathroom and began frantically brushing her teeth, her tongue, her mouth, like Jim Carey after he kissed who he thought was a female in "Ace Ventura." Finkle is Einhorn! Einhorn is Finkle! She swigged a bottle of Listerine like a pirate downs a bottle of rum. Yo-ho-ho-ho.

But don't worry, she's fine. And so is Penelope. Her poop passes inspection. But she's a mess after these episodes. Wouldn't you be if you hadn't pooped in five days? How much toilet paper do you think you would require for that incident?

Here I am, a father who is repeatedly being interrupted while on the toilet to attend to some pressing baby matter. And it's fitting, because the baby who is the source of the interruption doesn't see pooping as a priority.