“…they are so placid and self-contain’d…”
Hello, Internet! Do you recognize the title of this post? It’s pretty random, I admit. It’s a snippet of one of my favorite poems from my favorite Santa-Claus-lookin’-rumored-to-be-geigh famous historical figure in literature. And it has come to mind lately due to some very UN-contain’d situations regarding Sadie, her new sleep schedule, and some very compromised diapers.
“Using my beautiful writing to describe your daughter’s assplosions? GEE THANKS.”
Yeah, it’s going to be one of those posts, my friends. But please read on! I need your help! With this, and with things non-feces-related!
See, Sadie has begun sleeping in much longer stretches through the night. Awesome, right?! The shrinking bags under my eyes sure think so! She goes down around 9pm or so, and sleeps until around 3am, at which point we apply boob and a clean diaper, then re-swaddle & rock back to sleep for another 3 hours or so.
The new sleep schedule – like this onesie – is TOTALLY RAD.
The problem is that she pretty much always wakes up from her long, six hour stretch with a dry diaper, which she proceeds to dirty during her 3am feeding. And she started out being all, “OH, DIAPER! It’s been awhile!” about it, filling her diaper with, well, SIX HOURS worth of business. This meant that I would sometimes have to change her three times before re-swaddling, but hey – I am not one to deny my fellow man his or her enjoyment of a healthy poop. Or in this case, POOPS.
But over the past few days? She has been a bit more…conservative when it comes to the 3am diaper-filling. I usually just get some pee, which is scary, because I know the poo is there. Lurking. Watching. Waiting.
Does not like such scary stories.
Inevitably, the lack of 3am poo means that I will be wakened at around 6am by a virtual SYMPHONY of poo-related noises coming over the baby monitor. The first one? Makes Brad & I turn to each other and laugh. The second? Raises our eyebrows. The third (and beyond)? Makes us break out into a sweat and race into her room, knowing FULL WELL that we have a morning of spot-treating and laundry ahead of us. So basically, no 3am poo means she WAKES UP POOPING at 6am. WITH A VENGEANCE.
Yippie-ki-yay, fitted sheets!
The solution would be to ensure that she poops at 3am, but I can’t seem to make that happen. Nursing is the only surefire way to encourage a healthy dump, but if it ain’t happening, it ain’t happening. I also don’t want to wait it out, because 1) I don’t want to be up for two hours waiting for poop, and 2) I don’t want to encourage wide-awakeness for two hours in the middle of the night, thus fucking with the HEAVENLY AND AMAZING new sleep schedule.
To clarify, it’s not that her diapers can’t hold the bounty she brings forth – they can – it’s just that when she’s laying in her crib and squirming around in her usual squirmy waking-up routine, things tend to spill out the waistband and up her back. Short of duct-taping her waistband to her tender baby skin, WHAT SHOULD I DO? I am going crazy over here with the poop and the laundry and the constant washing of the ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY swaddling wrap that takes FOREVER to dry and is never ready in time for the afternoon nap!!!!1!!11!!!
Mama’s going crazy? EEEEXCELLENT.
Internet, I am turning to you for advice. Any thoughts? My last post yielded a very valuable suggestion from Shelli (we ordered our Miracle Blanket yesterday!) for which I was so grateful that I wanted to drive to New York City and kiss her on the mouth, although I’m quite certain her wife (HER WIFE!!) wouldn’t so much appreciate that. Is her morning assplosion just one of those things I’m going to have to endure until her little body regulates? I just hate having to drag that dirty onesie over her head at 6:30am while she’s squealing with hunger and doesn’t understand why I’m such a stickler about cleaning the feces off of her before offering up the boob.
Oh, what a beautiful mooooorniiiiiiin’…
Of course, this morning was the exception: she didn’t unleash until after her morning feeding, and everything was contained just fine. I imagine this was because today is when I am at work and Daddy is at home, and we wouldn’t subject Daddy to such indignities, OH HEAVENS NO. Save that for The One With The Boobs.
In all fairness, she did projectile poop on Daddy’s arm last weekend at 5am, so I think we’re even. In other news, with a face that cute, she can pretty much get away with anything.
And now for something completely different…
Internet, I know a very wonderful person, Rodger, who – if I may skip the sugar-coating – is dying right now. He’s struggled on and off with some particularly nasty cancer, and is now at the end of the road. He’s moving to hospice today so that he can be comfortable as he approaches the end. His spirits are up; I’ve heard that he’s still cracking jokes and looking forward to seeing the loved ones who passed on before him. This morning’s update from a mutual friend contained this small story that really touched me:
“And then there’s nurse Mona. One night, when ‘the Susies’ [his bedsores] were particularly challenging, Rodger just decided to yell out. And Mona, ‘a large woman with giant breasts,’ as Rodger describes her, came in and hugged him and said, ‘It’s okay, honey. Men cry too.’ Rodger can’t stop talking about how fabulous it felt to be held against her ‘giant breasts’ for so long and how pillowy they were–all this with total naive wonder in his voice. Rodger and his first big breast experience.”
This story got to me for a few reasons: knowing he’s in so much pain he couldn’t help but cry out, the image of a virtual stranger cradling his now tiny self in her arms, the fact that he recounted the story in a very Rodger-like way. It reminds me to be thankful for my health, and to appreciate every day I have with the people I love, and that there are still Monas in the world, despite the days when I think I am surrounded entirely by assholes.
I’m sharing this not to bring you down, but to hopefully make you smile – and to ask that you send a positive thought Rodger’s way. He was the brilliant director for three of the best shows I’d ever been a part of, and I can only hope Sadie will someday have such a loving and creative friend in her life.
You are the plush bunny to my drooling mouth.