The Epic Poop

My two kids are so different. For example, Norah really liked to scream and stay up all night. Party animal, that one. Clayton? He loves his sleep, day or night it's what he likes doing second best (first, of course, would be eating.) Norah was a champion pooper. As regular as Old Faithful, her diapers were consistently filled with that mustard-yellow newborn poop. Clayton? Not so much. He had his two-month doctor's appointment on Monday and I mentioned that he hadn't pooped in probably about 10 days. Yes. 10 full days with no poop. Nothing. He told me to wait it out, and if he hadn't pooped in three more days to give him a suppository. I felt like I was walking around with a ticking time bomb, that at any given moment my darling baby could explode with poop everywhere. The doctor confirmed that this would likely be the case. I could hardly wait ...

The next day produced a cute little poop, but I knew that was just Clayton trying to lull me into a false sense of security. I know how sneaky the male gender can be. So in preparation for what was sure to be the diaper of the century, Jason and I packed a plethora of wipes and an extra set of clothes for all of us because we were taking our little time bomb to Lagoon for Jason's company party. Nothing. No poop. Then yesterday, as Norah is screaming for her lunch because she's "really really hungey" and we've approached and passed nap time, I'm balancing Clayton with one hand while I prepare a hot dog with the other and he starts to grunt. That oh-so-telling grunt. First one grunt, then another, and with each grunt the smell gets stronger. And after a while, I'm watching the poop creep up his back, getting higher and higher with every push. And there it was, the epic poop. The poop that took not four, not five, and not even six wipes to clean off my baby ... but seven. A seven wipe dipe. Seven wipes for 13 days of poop. That, folks, is legendary.