Little Man is a prolific pooper…like I feed this kid, and I have no idea how he relieves his body weight in manure on a daily basis. I regularly berate myself for not working some type of deal with a local farm or something because sheep, cows, and goats have nothin’ on Mr. Man.
(World Animal Foundation Animals: “So, you say your poops are more stupendous…Thems fightin’ words…”)
If my son only blesses me three times a day, I consider it a win. And, I’m not talking the cute and sparse deer pebble ones that stink up an entire room before you’ve registered what happened. Each diaper fugitive is substantial enough to give my son the appearance of a banana hammock stretching down to the knees of his exceptionally long legs.
His timing is impeccable too, and I have to admit I’m kinda in awe. My son could have pooped three of his remarkably substantial loads before his nap, but still manage to trot into the hallway stating in a surprisingly accurate Brooklyn accent, “I made stinkers,” within ten minutes of me leaving him upstairs to his own devises. Today he even managed to poop five minutes before I took him upstairs, and once again within his designated time frame. When that happened, I knew he did it just to mess with me.
(The Great Gatsby understands how he uses his personal biohazard as an intimidation tactic.)
The exclusively formula fed Warrior Queen is constipated…because she is formula fed. And, let me tell you the production that occurs every time she relieves herself. Every other day she will suddenly start screaming so loudly the neighbors likely hear. Some of it seemed so painful we began dosing her with prunes every other day…that helped soften things, but not the screaming. She generally likes making an equally big deal out of life’s big and small displeasures alike. I guess pooping can be added to the tally.
(A screaming poop face like this emphatically communicates she means business!)
We don’t really use baby food; both kids went right to the table food we were eating in increasing sized bites as the they grew. What began as morseled tastes for my daughter is now an impressive quantity…I’m not sure where she puts it. Today for lunch she ate an entire peanut butter sandwich, some apple, and mashed potatoes and gravy. She still polished off half an eight ounce bottle shortly after…must be from my side of the family…Little Man has the same storage capacity with his daddy’s tall, lean build.
(This is kinda how I see mealtime in my house. Thank you, Pandora’s box Wikipedia.)
Warrior Queen is up to consistently eating two solid meals a day, which means more poop…like a lot more. A few days ago they were annoying shart type messes spaced within ten minutes of each other. There was barely enough to clean, but is certainly wasn’t gas; and I was befuddled that a streak of nothing could smell as bad as it did. Things took a turn today, however, when the children committed to a truly unnecessary competition of who can provide the most dumps in a 12 hour period. Warrior Queen started strong, but she ultimately had to relinquish the title promise to the reigning shit champion…It was thrilling to experience. In anticipation I waited to see who would come out the winner. Sadly it was not the underdog this time…I’ve always liked an underdog.
At the end of a day that I could have easily done without, I’m left to consider: How would one manage to work this skill into a resume? Certainly both children show an propensity for politics.