Poops

So far today, I've changed Brixton's diaper 6 times.  He's batting a 6/6 average for pooping in each diaper.  Don't get me wrong--I'm not talking about 6 huge blowouts, rather a small, tightly compressed nugget lodged tightly between his cheese-cheeks.  While they may be the size of a walnut, they pack a stink punch of the world's largest durian fruit.  Forget sticking an egg under someone's car seat to rot and start to stink up their car, you could stealthily hide one of these nuggets anywhere and drive people insane.  They are so pressured packed  and contured to his body, I swear one day I'm going to open his diaper and be presented with a 33 carat diamond.

I'm not complaining.  I would so rather have a pooping baby than a baby with constipation or loose-caboose.  Thankfully, we are back to using cloth diapers, so I'm not tossing out my precious disposables that many times a day.

Despite our vigilance about detecting and changing the poo nuggets, he still manages to sneak one by us every so often.  You'll be on the diaper mat, completely unprepared, wipes not out and ready, gas mask unstrapped on face.  You open the diaper and there it is: contraband.  Brixton looks up at you gleefully, kicks his legs about and then promptly pees, the steady stream arching over the nugget: a golden rainbow if you will.

Every night before bed, we have 'naked time.' Mind you, this only applies to Brixton, as I can't really see the whole family partaking and I'm so sorry to have given you that visual.  I lay a thin blanket on the carpet, strip Brix down to his skin and let him air out for 5 minutes or so.  This is by far one of his favorite times of the day.  He screams.  He laughs.  He kicks.  And yesterday, he pooped.

Indeed, I had just left his side for approximately 30 seconds to run to the bathroom.  When I came back in, I noticed something small and dark by his side. 

"Did you find a friend?" I asked, moving closer.  Then, a gasp.

"What is..is that?  EWWWWWWW!"

What in the world?  How did he get that out so quickly?  Was he hiding it in his hand to throw out as a surprise like a VERY WRONG type of confetti?  He was gleeful.  GLEEFUL!  And kicking.  Kicking in such a way that the poo was making itself dangerously close to becoming a schmeer and that's NOT what you want to deal with right before bedtime.  I called Brendan up, he who was a bit perplexed that I'd call him up to look at a piece of baby feces on a blanket.  But I thought I needed backup, or at least someone else just to be breathing in that stench.

The best part, and the silver..or brown..lining of this whole thing is that I rarely have to rinse out the dirty cloth diapers in our utility sink anymore.  Nope, just a quick shake into the old toilet and we are good to go.

At least until an hour later, when he goes again.