And here's the reality of parenthood. Paul and I had an experience last night that launched us directly into being a mother and father. If we thought we were parents before last night, we were wrong. Last night's event was our first introduction into doing whatever it takes to help our baby Nyla.
To preface this, just be warned: it's gross. If you don't like bodily fluids, do not read further.
Our sweet thing is an eater. She likes to eat all the time. We're talking every two hours, if not more. In order to keep up with her (and to salvage any remnants of my chest), we introduced formula into her diet a week or so ago. Little did we know that bringing in formula meant bringing on constipation. Constipation plus an infant equals fussy girl.
Last week, I called our doctor and spoke with his nurse. She suggested adding some watered down prune juice into her bottle to get things moving. We did this, and success! We had a poop! (Sidenote: I refuse to call it a "stool." That makes me think of a literal stool-three legged chair for cow milking.) We continued to give Nyla some prune juice in her bottles, but I was uncomfortable with how this might be affecting her stomach having something other than milk in her.
When we went in for her three-week checkup, the doctor told me that there is a little procedure that we can do at home to help relieve her that doesn't involve prune juice. "Oh great, doctor! What do we do?"
"Well, you'll need to put vaseline on the tip of a Qtip and massage her anus."
I need to do what?
Apparently we need to teach Nyla to take poops...or at least teach her body to do it naturally. And this is done by massaging her with a Qtip. Huh.
After a few hours of fussiness last night, Paul and I gave in. We were going to do the Qtip procedure. After many deep breaths, Paul was the bigger parent and volunteered to do this to our daughter. Now you don't need to insert the Qtip very far, but the thought of sticking anything foreign into any place on our daughter is frightening.
I won't go into details of the whole happening, but Nyla was a trooper. There was one part though that doctor failed to inform us of; when the anus is massaged, it doesn't just get the process going--it starts it instantly. As Paul was finishing up the "massage," I started telling him "oh I hope this works Paul. She's been so..." and it was at this moment that projectile poop started a-flowin'! And I mean everywhere. Um, hello doctor?! How about a heads up about this little experience?
I always thought that when something like this would happen, I would be dry heaving and totally grossed out. While I was the latter, I just sucked it up and cleaned up our girl...and her changing table...and the floor.
Being a parent is pretty gross sometimes, I guess. But the look of instant relief on Nyla's face made the whole scenario worth it. Now here's hoping we don't need to do that little thing again...ever. I do mean ever, ever.
PS: the word "anus" is on my list of words that I hate. Bleh.
Make sure you tell her that story when whe's about sixteen and acting like a total witch. She'll probably be more horrified than you were :)
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