Call me Inspector

Inspector Diaper. Do-doot-do-doot-doot-do. Yeah, there I said it. I've been sifting through the poo like I’m some sort of top secret investigator on a mission. You know that slime in Ghost Busters? Well, I think it's in Eva's diaper. Either that or the The Teens are pulling a prank on me. (Hey, let’s Nickelodeon slime the baby’s diaper when she’s not looking.) You know, just so they can gauge my level of mental stability after just four hours of sleep and mystery poop.

When I learned that I was going to have a newborn in the house again after almost nine years, the reality that I'd be changing dirty diapers like an assembly like worker didn't escape me.

Only, the memory of how a mom often frets over the appearance of baby's doo-doo did. It starts in the hospital when well meaning nurses instruct you on the importance of keeping track of the amount of wet and poopy diapers your amazing little baby has. Like caring for an itty bitty human being when you feel like a genetically-mutated zombie isn’t hard enough. You mean I have to make elaborate spreadsheets to record, track, itemize, and summarize every sleeping, eating, and pooping habit of a my newborn?

Didn’t I sign up for the motherhood gig? What’s with the secretarial duties?
And because The Experts know that your tiny newborn will be pooping at every single feeding, especially if their breastfed, they try to help you take the guessing work out of poop-keeping, by saying things like, “If their stool is larger than a quarter, typically that’s considered a bowel movement, go ahead and put that into your data sheet.”

The size of a quarter? Oh. So, what does it mean then if their poop projectiles across the room, ricochets off the wall and splatters the dog in the eye? Where the check-off box for that? Or is my baby the only one God gifted with a rocket launcher in her bowels?

Let’s insert co-parenting into diapering duties. If The Husband is upstairs, I find myself hollering up at him, “Honnneyyyy, is her poop mustardy? Or is it green again? Is it seedy looking? Oh, and is it larger than a quarter?”

No response.

“Heyyyyy, did you hear me? I asked you if her poop is at least the size of a quarter? Cause we have to keep track you know so...“Yeah!!! I heard ya! I’m a little busy here. Wiping poop off her back and out of her hair, so quit your hollering!”
It didn’t take me long to stop asking him her little “presents” as it seemed totally unnecessary.

The girl farts with such velocity; her skid marks are larger than a quarter. Besides discussing the contents of your child’s diaper is counter-productive to any romantical parents might have. Not that, romance isn’t elusive enough around here as it is. Honestly, I’m not convinced that Eva isn’t the result of another immaculate conception. I figure, if it’s a code 5 diaper or higher.

Oh, and I can’t forget the best part about the duty of poop-keeping in motherhood. The references of food when discussing and analyzing poop.

Is it the consistency of peanut butter or yogurt? Perhaps soft cheese? Is there mucus in their poop, like say, the consistency of grape jelly? If yes, and it’s the color of currant jelly, take her to the emergency room RIGHT away!

Well, doctor, sometimes it looks like she’s got mashed small curd cottage in her pants with strands of spaghetti squash. But lately, the poop is green with some mucous. Sometimes it’s stringy with a tinge of blood. I’m sorta freaking out here, but she’s happy, smiling, and devouring my left breast with gusto, so should I be worried?

I get the token replay, “Green can be normal and it just an indication of many different factors. Is the green the shade of spinach or say frozen peas?”
Well, are there peas or spinach that glow in the dark and are the shade of neon green? Then, um no. If so, that would be along the right color spectrum. Then imagine the consistency of a melted ice cream sundae topped with green phlegm.

Yup, I gagged too.