The Great Poo "Incident" of 2009

WARNING: This post is not for the faint of stomach. Please read at your own risk.

If you follow this blog regularly, you may have noticed that in a recent post, I mentioned a debate about a certain blog topic that was arguably too "gross" to publish. I know you've all been on pins and needles since then, not only from curiosity about the event itself but also wondering what could have happened that I, especially, would feel uncertain about posting. (Not being known for my subtlety or sense of restraint...) Well, wait no more, dear readers! I present to you, "The Great Poo Incident of 2009!"

It all started innocently enough last Friday morning. As it was supposed to be pleasantly warm that day, I dressed Maddie in a little denim jumper and t-shirt. Her diapers are G-diapers (Yay, G-diapers! If you don't know what they are, check them out here.), and since they're pretty cute, I didn't think I needed to put anything else over them. Foreshadowing, people. It's what the good writers do. Having dressed, fed, and otherwise prepared my child for the day, I dropped her off at daycare with Laura, drove to work, and prepared to spend the majority of my day in a meeting with clients, sans phone.

Meanwhile, back in Olathe, Laura puts Maddie down for her morning nap and goes about her day, which at this point includes entertaining the two children at daycare who don't take a morning nap. Around 11 a.m., she hears Maddie fussing, and she goes upstairs to get her out of the pack 'n' play and bring her down to play. Little does she know what horrible fate awaits her on the other side of the bedroom door...

(If this were TV, I'd take a commercial break here, just so you know.)

On entering the room, Laura finds Maddie on her hands and knees in the pack 'n' play, whimpering, and completely caked in poo. Yes, poo! Apparently, during her nap, the cute g-diaper that I had so thoughtlessly left uncovered came loose (or was helped loose, we'll never know), and then, Maddie proceeded to poop in the bed. Being still somewhat new to this world, and it must be said, never having been allowed to play with her own feces before, she proceeded to make short work of the "matter." Laura said it was everywhere--all over the pack 'n' play, the crib sheet, her clothes, her pacifier, her hands, feet, hair, face. Yeah...it was not a pretty sight.

Now comes the slightly ridiculous part. After bathing Maddie (that must have been fun), Laura becomes concerned that Maddie may have ingested or inhaled some of the poo. BUT, instead of calling our pediatrician, whom she has the number for, she dialed 911 and had a team of paramedics come to the house to assess her. (Note: Maybe I'm an irresponsible mother, but if this had happened at home, I would have been disgusted, had a long battle with my gag reflex, bathed her, and then probably had another battle with my gag reflex, but I would have even thought about calling her doctor, much less an ambulance, but then, maybe that's why I don't run a daycare.) The paramedics arrive, listen to her lungs, which sound clear, and then ask Laura if she'd like to have her transported to the nearest hospital. Now remember, I'm in a meeting without my phone, Jon sees patients and doesn't carry his phone with him, and Laura thinks he's in Gardner when he's really in Overland Park, so through all of this, she can't get a hold of either of us. Luckily, she decided not to have her transported; otherwise, Jon and I would have been charged several mortgage payments because our daughter decided to go all nude-beach on us.

So, there you have it, "The Great Poo Incident of 2009." Laura sent all the laundry home, but Jon had it all washed and dried by the time I arrived home (the sheet and pacifier were beyond salvation, sadly), so really, writing it up for the blog is the most I've had to do, which was nice. Well, that, and try not to cry on the way home, picturing my baby covered in poo.

Needless to say, there will be no more uncovered G-diapers, ever, I don't care how damn cute they are...

Mommy's Little Helper

And now, a cute picture and video break:

I got some help unloading the dishwasher on Monday evening. (Obviously, she's starting to "pull up.")

(And yes, in typical baby fashion, she went straight for the knives...)

I Love You Madly (or WAAAAAAA!)

It's been quite the week at the Webster-Stoppel household. We have several things to report, and for the first time, we had to have a discussion about whether or not we should put something on the blog. It wasn't too personal or too controversial. No, it may be too gross. Seriously...but we'll come to that later.

Let's go back to the beginning: It all started last Thursday. It had been a perfectly normal day, which for us means nothing worth blogging. Then, we put Maddie to bed, and as soon as I left the room, she started screaming. I don't just mean she was fussing or even really crying. She was screaming. I waited about five minutes, but when it still didn't stop, I went in, put her pacifier back in, rubbed her back, and left again. Once more, when the door shut, the screaming started. The second time I went in, she was sitting up in her crib, tears pouring down her little face, looking at me like I just killed a puppy in front of her. This time, I picked her up and rocked her, calmed her down, and put her back in bed, but again, as soon as I left the room, screaming. I finally ended up nursing her again, until she fell asleep.

Repeat, Friday night, Sunday night, Monday night, and Thursday night of this week. If she wasn't so exhausted from her day (or from doing exactly the same thing during her second nap--not the first, only the second--at daycare, thus taking no nap) that she fell asleep while nursing before bed, she screamed as soon as we left the room. Those of you who are parents know where this is going: Yes, we have entered separation anxiety territory.

For those of you who don't know, separation anxiety usually occurs when a child figures out that Mom and Dad (or whomever he/she is most attached to, which in our case includes Laura, our daycare provider) exist separately from them. Once this clicks, mentally, the child realizes that Mom and Dad can leave, but unfortunately, he/she doesn't make the connection that Mom and Dad will come back. Children going through this stage of development believe that when their parents leave the room, they may never see them again, which is obviously terrifying.

In Maddie's case, this may have been exacerbated by the fact that she's teething, and we think she just finished up a growth spurt, but it was stressful for everyone, none the less. We've spent the last 8+ months teaching her to put herself to sleep, and we didn't want to ruin it all now, so we've decided to go with the cry-it-out method. (Note: Someone at work was kind enough to tell me that by letting Maddie cry-it-out, I was increasing her risk of SIDS. People can be so kind...) It's not easy, listening to your daughter scream for you for 20 minutes, but she does eventually settle down and go to sleep, and she's still sleeping through the night, so that's good.

The rest of our, um, interesting, week will follow in the subsequent posts.

P.S. - We think it may be resolving now, but since I've typed this, it'll probably come back full-force tonight. I walk on the wild side, people; I tempt fate.

Learning the sippy cup

Happy Mother's Day

Here is Alaina's first Mother's Day breakfast. She had pancakes with strawberries and home-made whipped cream. I also made a typical "MOM" pancake, to prepare Alaina for Maddie's pancakes in the years to come. I am also trying to set a precedent for Father's Day ;) Happy Mother's Day!

Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Two-Year-Old

So, yesterday, Maddie got into her first fight. She fought valiantly, but as you can see from the pictures below, it would appear she was bested (see left lower cheek):



Okay, so here's what really happened. Our daycare provider's son, who--in his defense--is two, was playing with a toy and put said toy on the ground near Maddie. Maddie picked the toy up, but it would seem that Spencer had not, in fact, finished playing with this toy, and as recompense for touching his precious possession, he pushed Maddie. In the process of pushing her, he scratched her face.

Laura (our daycare provider and Spencer's mother) said Maddie was pretty upset and cried for a little bit, but she's fine now. Spencer apologized to me that evening; although, I'm not entirely sure he really knows what he did. Like I said, he's two.

Luckily for all of you, dear readers, these pictures of her battle scars also allow you your first glimpse of her bottom tooth. She's probably had this one for about a month, but we didn't want to post anything about it until we got a good picture, and not surprisingly, when you want a baby to open her mouth, she chooses not to comply. She's got two top teeth now as well, which you can see in the picture below (And, yes, I know she will hate me for the following picture when she's older):

She's also working on the two top teeth to either side of the ones currently poking their little, white heads out, and we've got to assume the one next to her bottom one will shortly join its brother. (Teeth are male, apparently...) And, in case you were wondering, teething has not been a barrel of laughs. We spent most of last weekend with a fussy, cranky baby who ran a low-grade fever. Fun times...

Be sure to catch Maddie's next title fight sometime between 7:45 a.m. and 5 p.m. tomorrow!

Da Da's and Clapping

There may be a running argument in our household whether not "da da" is the first word. Bet you can't guess which side I am on.

It's beginning to look a lot like summer...

Sometimes I can't help but make Maddie an example for my Eye Doctor ways. Maddie wants everyone to know she has started wearing sunglasses to block the harmful UV rays from damaging her eyes. She was also doing some reading and found out that 80% that's 4/5 of all UV absorbed by the eyes happens before the age of 18. She has also inspired me to wear my shades even though I am a hopeless cause at this point. Maddie is modeling her new Baby Banz, retro style.

Here she is modeling her first pair of shorts and waving to her adoring fans.

Snubbed by the Easter Bunny

Easter was a little hectic here at the Webster-Stoppel household. So much so that I ran out of the house without my purse (yeah, no wallet, phone, keys, nothing), and therefore, we didn't have the camera and didn't get any pictures of Maddie in her Easter clothes. Last week, we had a belated Easter photo shoot, and today, I'm finally getting the pictures up on the blog. Here's the little girl the Easter Bunny forgot:

Of Two Minds

WARNING: This post is solely about breastfeeding. If you feel you may be uncomfortable with the topic, please skip this one. Thanks!

Yesterday, Maddie reached the eight-month mark. (Eight months! I know!) It's weird to think that in a couple of months, we're going to have to start seriously planning her first birthday party. (Don't even get me started on that. For some reason, it seems that birthday parties for small children must have themes, usually based on something the child really loves, but how do you pick out a theme for a one-year-old? Okay, people, the theme is pureed pears and being outside--Go! It's going to be a process...)

Anyway, long parenthetical rants aside, as she gets older, a question is starting to come up with increasing frequency: So, you're still breastfeeding? When she was just a few months old, people would ask, "Are you still breastfeeding?", but now, it's usually, "So, you're still breastfeeding?" They sound like the same question, but trust me, they aren't. See "Are you?" is encouraging, interested, supportive. "So, you're..." is a little more judgemental. You can see people thinking, "Come on, this kid's almost a year old. Is she really going to be able to quit at a year? Is she going to be one of those crunchy, hippy moms who's still nursing her four-year-old, in public, without any sort of cover, while munching on organic granola and flax seeds?" To the latter, I would give a resounding, No!

See, originally, the plan was to be finished at six-months. I would wean her, and we'd switch her to formula, and life would keep rolling, as it does. But around the five-month mark, I started to feel like I should keep doing it longer. Number one, she really seems to enjoy the nursing session right before bed, and to be honest, so do I. We curl up in the over-stuffed chair in the living room, she settles down to eat, usually half-asleep already as she does so, and I turn on a cooking show that I started watching while I was on maternity leave and still watch every night. (Barefoot Contessa, anyone? I love me some Ina Garten!) It's very relaxing, very private, very much our time. Number two, I still feel like breast milk may be better than formula. I know there are all kinds of studies showing that after six-months of age, there's really not any difference, but it's just how I feel about it for my kid. (A note to any of you who read this and are using, did use, are planning to use formula: I'm not judging you. Really, I'm not. You have to do what you think is right for your family and your baby. There are all kinds of different situations, and I would never dream of telling how to run your life.) Number three, and this is a practical one, it's soooooo much cheaper than formula. I'm not going to use the phrase "In this economy" because I'm getting really tired of hearing that all the time, but the little personal dairy that I'm carrying around between my shoulders and my belly button is probably saving us close to $100/month. Not bad for the former B-cups, if I do say so myself.

However, this post is titled "Of Two Minds" for a reason. I'm getting really, really, really, really, really...really tired of pumping! I'm tired of lugging the big black bag around (because no matter how many adjectives like chic and stylish they throw around, it looks like nothing more or less than a bag containing a breast pump). I'm tired of rinsing and drying the pump parts not to mention having to run the dishwasher every night to get them cleaned and sanitized for the next day. I'm tired of the 1-1.5 hours a day I spend hooked up to a machine. And, to be honest, I'm tired of the attention that it draws. Breastfeeding is still so controversial, and strangely, like with pregnant women, people seem to lose their filter when talking about it. If I were to suddenly decide to become a vegetarian, people might talk about it behind my back, but not many strangers or people I only know slightly would feel comfortable questioning my choice to my face, but for some reason, people feel completely within their rights to tell me what to do with my boobs. When you think about it that way, it's seriously messed up. In what other situation would you feel it was all right to talk about something it isn't even legal to expose in public?

Basically, that's how I feel about it. Just felt like sharing. Interestingly, after I had already started this post, I read an article on breastfeeding and some of the new trends and ideas that are being thrust upon already confused mothers. Check it out here. (As a side note, I adore this parenting website, so for all you Generation X parents out there, it's worth exploring a bit.) My use of the words "thrust upon" may sound as if I don't agree with the article, which isn't true. I agree with a large part of what's being said. I just, as mentioned above, get a little tired of people trying to tell me what to do with the ladies. What are your thoughts? Why is this such a pressure-filled topic?