If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, then it’s probably poop.

Posted on October 13, 2013

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To credit and quote one of my favorite shows in which I grew up watching at my grandparent’s house in Brooklyn, New York, (circa almost every visit and sleepover I ever encountered), this post, at the urging of a good friend, will be a little different.

“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

In this case, let’s just substitute “Twilight” for “Parenting” zone-cue impending doom music now. I’m kidding. No, but really, sometimes, it feels like that.

Today and everyday, my 10 month old has a new found ability which I’m assuming most parents are familiar with, Baby doing sit-ups during diaper change and hollering like she’s Leonidas from the 300. As she reaches for her 5th sit-up, I reply with my affirmative NO, and she replies with “This is Sparta!”. All jokes aside, what is this strange phenomenon? I don’t understand it. Are you Bruce Lee preparing for Enter the Dragon?

Me, being of sound body and sound mind, I’ve tried several yogic techniques to soothe and calm Baby during this torturous effort. I’ve tried the basket of toys near the diaper changing area. I’ve tried singing. I’ve tried books. I’ve tried giving her my phone to play with. Nothing seems to work. Should I try Shaun T videos on repeat? I’m not so sure.

Sometimes there are no books, techniques, or strategies in helping you deal with these crazy happenings that come with being a parent. Case in point, trying to be the most all-natural momma out there I found that pureeing baby food was such a delightful, yet healthy treat in place of prepared and packaged baby food. I was on a roll. You could essentially call me the Cake Boss of baby puree’s (with the help of my mother/mother-in-law). I made butternut squash, bananas, chicken with carrots, and loads more. On one specific occasion, there was a puree made with beef, green beans and some kind of summer squash. It was a particular shade of green that very well matched you know what. As we’re eating dinner, I notice a certain someone in their playpen is particularly quiet and focused. I thought nothing of it and did a happy dance within myself because I was eating, wait for it, in peace. Soon, the time came where we put our plates up and I think all moms can sympathize with me when I say this, for some reason, when you have children all five senses within your being are heightened like you’re superhuman, well my spidey senses were telling me something was amiss. I reach into the playpen only to find the horror that most parents dread in their lifetime. The dreaded poop blowout. This had happened to me on several occasions but not as severe. At this point I did not know it was a full on blowout, it was very sneaky and ninja-like in it’s nature (it comes in many forms-beware) So I stooped down to pick up this sweet angel that had let mommy eat her dinner in peace, I look at the mesh in the playpen and find a weird goopy substance peeking through. Hmm? Leftover baby food? I take my index finger and scoop it up. Like all moms do, we analyze, we smell, we-investigate. I don’t know if it’s our subconscious longing for a star role on CSI but it’s what we do. To my horror, this was not baby food. I’m glad I smelled it before I actually ate it because then I would have to join those people who throw parties to eat baby placenta. After this trickery, the sneaky, ninja-like poop blowout revealed itself underneath my little one’s bum. Surprise. It. Was. Everywhere. I will spare you the graphics, but you get it.

Like I stated earlier, there’s nothing that prepares you for days like these; but always remember like Aibileen told Mae Mobley everyday, “You is kind, you is smart, you is important”

That is where you find the beauty in days like this. Also, never forget if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, then it’s probably poop.

Dedicated to Moms.

Love and Be Light,

Jessica

 

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Posted in: Momma Market