Posted in Beth, Blog, Featured, Mother, Posts for mommies-to-be

When baby gets blocked up…

I’ll admit it. My babies get constipated. The first time it happened, I anxiously watched every diaper for just a hint of yellow. Or brown. Or green. Anything. It could have been purple and I would have been relieved.

But then, five days into the poop strike, I was downtown. We had planned to get our daughter a passport, and and were dutifully headed down to the Post Office to get our photos taken. Such a journey can’t begin without good sustenance though. So we hit up a very fancy Thai restaurant for lunch. I was in the midst of eating the most amazing Phad See Ew I’ve ever eaten with one hand when I felt the rumbling begin in my other hand. Our daughter… was… pooping!! I was excited, and excused myself to go to the restroom and clean her up. Unfortunately, this particular restaurant lacked a changing station, so I put down the beautiful plastic changing pad a friend had purchased for our shower, and began to remove my daughter’s lovingly crafted cloth diaper.

I was not prepared. And I don’t just mean for the poop. The poop was everywhere. Everywhere! But as I dug through the diaper bag, I realized we had no wipes. I immediately panicked, like any good first-time mom. The paper towels were on the far side of the sink counter. My baby was already rolling. The counter was not very wide. And of course, I was wearing my best getting-a-passport outfit. So much for that. I finally scooped her up and carried her, diaperless to the paper towels. We pulled out about a million, and returned. I laid her down on the pad again, and she immediately began to pee. Remember where I said that changing pad was plastic? I’m sure you get the picture.

We wiped and scooped and tossed and wiped and tossed some more. When I lifted her up to place the new diaper below, I realized her onesie was soaked. But alas. I was also without any extra outfits. I finally gave up, put her in a new diaper, and pulled the wet onesie back around it. Poor baby!

By the time we got to the passport office, she was nearly dry. We waited in line for the postal worker to get the camera to take our pictures. For hers, I had to hold her in a seated position in front of a white screen. In the midst of being photographed, I felt it once again. The rumbling. It was *five* days’ worth, after all. Ahh!

But I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, until the passport pictures were completed. In the photos, my eldest- the most smiley baby in the world- looks annoyed. But then, who wouldn’t be, with a wet onesie and a full diaper? My most vivid memory of that trip is not in the restaurant restroom, madly wiping the counters down and trying to find disinfectant spray, but instead, changing her diaper *again* on the floor of the post office with my husband’s help.

I used to joke about this with other moms who would mention constipation and say that all they needed to do was take their kid out to a fancy restaurant and leave the diaper bag at home, and voila! But then, this week, we discovered the truth. It isn’t about the restaurant at all.

You see, we’re planning a trip to New Zealand in April (with two kids under two! The other passengers on that flight are going to looooove us, right?), and as such, needed to get our youngest a passport. So, once again, we headed to the post office. And once again, while I was standing there, holding my youngest in place for the same postal worker to take her photo in front of that same sparkling white screen… the rumbling began.

Sure enough, my youngest let loose three days’ worth right into her poorly-fastened Huggies, which promptly leaked up the back of her onesie. Obviously, our standards have changed with the second child… but I’ve learned my lesson. There are so many outfits in the diaper bag now that we could hop on a plane today and be set for a month. Our littlest baby was changed asap, and all was well with the world.

Well, except that passport photo. I’m afraid every time I see either of those passports, I’ll think fondly of just exactly where my hand was in that photo.

But at least now I know what to tell moms who are worrying about their diaper output: Take baby to get a passport photo!

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