Ok folks it's about to get real up in this mug. The joy of a blog is you can click off any time you see fit. This option is at your disposal. I am a medical professional, talking about awkward bodily functions has no effect on me whatsoever, and honestly it never has. I am warped. Everybody farts, craps, burps, vomits, etc. Anybody that knows me knows I have a jacked up stomach. JACKED up. I've attempted to have it fixed. I diagnosed myself and everything. IBS. I carried myself to the doctor, and what did he do? Shoved a finger up my butt "checking my tone." I was forever scarred. I know my tone is fine, if it wasn't wouldn't I be crapping myself all the time? Not my issue. And his recommendation, take a fiber pill a day and come back in a week. Uhm, yeah, no. I paid you $50 to shove your finger up my hind end and tell me to take a fiber pill. Oh yeah and come back and pay me $50 again next week so I can do who knows what to you. I can live with my wretched stomach. Anything's worth not going through that process again.
Anywhooooooo, back to what this blog post is really about. E inherited my ridiculous GI system. And teething does not help it by any means. I thought the whole diarrhea part of teething came before the actual teeth came in. So when E popped his first tooth I thought "Oh happy days, E didn't have the diarrhea symptom." (I know, I'm completely clueless to this parenting thing- I'm working on it.) WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. E had just woken up from a nap. Chris was at work. (of course, because this stuff never happens to him.) I decide to try him in his swing with a movie playing. He was extremely content. Clue number one something was probably wrong. He stayed in his swing for about an hour. Way out of his norm. Usually each station lasts him about 30-45 minutes. I decided it would be a good opportunity to stick my head out the door to check on some rugs that were drying on the back fence. When I returned back inside (I was literally gone five seconds) E was fussing. Not wailing, but fussing. I go and check out the scene. This is what I see......
Me being the undercover blonde, thinks "Oh my gosh poor baby threw up on himself." I picked him up, holding him as far away as possible. And think "Wow, he smells like sh*t." No, no, can't be. Go in a little closer, for a more accurate sniff. Yep, that's crap, not throw up. What the hellllllllll! I never thought this was possible. I thought baby diarrhea was just a little squirt, not like grown folks diarrhea. I survey more of the scene, only to realize it's all the way up his back. As well as in a seeping pool in the bottom of the swing. In my head I'm thinking "what do I do, what do I do?" The extremely intellectual Brandi says "BATHTUB!" After texting multiple people this picture and posting it to FB (completely inappropriate), I slide off the onesie from top to bottom and trash that rancid thing. No, I refuse to wash it and let him wear it again. That onesie will forever be tainted with E's teething diarrhea. One of my work friends (did I mention I have the most amazing coworkers ever!) found this picture of a onesie on Pinterest. This describes my child to a T. I wonder if they have adult sizes in this for me ;)
One tooth down, nineteen to go. YIKES!
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