All Pooped Out

Oy. What a week. It's been a crap-tacular one.

WARNING: What follows is graphic in nature. Read at your own risk. This is what happens to you when you become a mom -- nothing (and I mean NOTHING) bothers you anymore, and suddenly talking -- and, apparently, writing -- about all sorts of bodily functions is completely normal.

It all started when Joe got out of dodge on Monday morning (first NYC, then San Francisco on Thursday night and Friday, then Reno for a depo on Saturday). Not that he did so by choice, but boy did he miss the fun this week!

It all seemed fine when we left to meet Aunt Elissa and Davia at an indoor mall with a playground, since we were rained out of our zoo excursion. I think it was the calm before the storm. First, Makela was hardly interested in the playground, asking to go to the bathroom almost immediately. So we went into Penney's right next to the playground and found the ladies room -- on the EXACT opposite end of the store, of course. No luck -- Makela completely freaked out on the potty, saying "My hiney hurts!" The only thing I could figure was that she was constipated, especially once I realized it had been nearly two days since her last poop.

Okay. No big deal, right? Well, lest you think that Makela is always sunshine and roses, read on. She did okay during most of lunch, but she only picked at her pasta, which is normally one of her absolute favorite meals. But then she started to melt down and wouldn't listen, and after a couple of warnings, I told her she couldn't go on the carousel (another mall perk). So Davia and Aunt Elissa went off to ride, while we went into some kid-friendly stores. After that, it went from bad to worse.

It was time for all of us to leave, but Makela wouldn't get in her stroller, and she wouldn't stay with me. She fell down on the mall floor and started to throw a fit. So I picked her up, plopped her into the stroller, and when she refused to sit down and practically fell through the front under the stroller bar, I buckled her in with the seatbelt. Well, that just set her off ROYALLY. Makela proceeded to scream -- a bloodcurdling, hoarse, how-dare-you-do-this-to-me-you-evil-Mommy-scream -- "I don't want to be buckled!!! I don't want to be buckled!!!" Over and over it went. All through the mall, while other mommies looked on with a knowing "Oh dear God, I've SO been there" smile on their faces; older women gave me the "Oh thank God, I SO don't miss that" look on their faces; and a few people looked at me like I had one pissed-off demon spawn riding in my stroller. Oh, and there was one group of young parents with the dad carrying an infant, and he just looked plain impressed with Makela's dramatics, saying "Damn! Look at her GO!" to his companions as we passed.

I don't remember much of the rest of the day after that. Honestly, I think I might be blocking it. But after much gnashing of teeth and drama and angst, Makela finally pooped at 9:33 pm that night. In the potty, no less. Sweet relief, right?

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.

So fast forward to Tuesday night. Makela had been saying, "My hiney hurts!" off and on all day. I figured she was just sore from the previous night's pooping of what might as well have been a rock. But by about 7:30 pm, it was clear that it had gotten much worse. And once she started saying that her lower back hurt, I realized that she hadn't peed since about 9 am. After talking to the after-hours advice nurse, it was time to go the ER. I called Gram to come along for moral support, and off we went.

I'll make this part of the story short. We spent about 3.5 hours at Children's Hospital, complete with catheter insertion for a urine test, x-ray of Makela's belly, and follow-up enema. NOT pretty and NOT fun. But it was necessary to determine that she indeed had a mild urinary tract infection and her bowels were blocked -- and thus needed UNblocking.

We spent all day Wednesday and most of Thursday resting on the couch. I think Makela watched more TV this week than she has in all her life.

Today dawned clear and bright, and Makela was in a sunny mood to match. And then suddenly we went from very little poop to entirely too much. The pipes are clean, and they were flowing freely today.

We went over to her friend Genevieve's house for a playdate, and she had two normal poops. Slightly unusual that they were earlier in the day than her norm and only about 30 minutes apart, but no big deal. We had a great time playing -- Makela found a Santa hat, put it and Genevieve's pink back pack on, and declared herself "Makela Santa." She even delivered presents to Kristen and me, telling us "Don't open dem til Kih-mus." Then we went home, ate a bit of lunch, and it was time for quiet time.

About an hour into quiet time, Makela came to her bedroom door and declared that she had a poopy diaper. (Mind you, she's been in pull-ups since this whole bowel saga started.) Well, that was an understatement. I zipped down her "facesuit," as she calls it (her "spacesuit" jammies are the one-piece kind with feet), to find poop oozing out of the left side of her pull-up and smeared down her leg and underneath her bottom. I hadn't seen anything like this since she was a baby! It took about half a Costco slab of wipes and one nasty trip to the laundry room, but I got her clean and into a new "spacesuit" and back into bed.

You'd think my tale would end there. But, alas, no.

After quiet time, a trip to Whole Foods, one more viewing of the "Doctor Daisy, MD" episode of "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse," a dinner of macaroni & cheese and apple slices, and finally toy parade, it was time for a nice bath. So in she went, happily starting to play with her Bathtime Elmo and Bathtime Baby. Makela has recently taken to pulling the shower door closed -- it's the kind that slides back and forth. She told me she was "hanging Kih-mus lights and putting up a Kih-mus tree" with her tub crayons, as she drew on the walls and shower doors. Suddenly I heard her yell, "My hiney hurts!" Followed closely by, "There's poop floating in the tub!"

The music from "Psycho" now blares briefly in my brain. NNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!!!

How can this be? We made it through an entire infancy without this sort of incident. But there it was, and I couldn't ignore it. Makela had pooped in the bathtub.

I started scooping toys out (not that many tonight, thank goodness) and drained the tub. From there, once the shrapnel was all washed away, I ran more warm water and scrubbed down my little girl. The towels and washcloths are currently in their second run through the washing machine, and the tub is soaking with lots of water and bleach.

So here's to a poop-free, quiet, solid night of restful sleep. And here's to Joe coming home. SOON. Please. Mommy is all pooped out.