Poop

It's been a while since I wrote an in depth note about Charlie. It's been pretty amazing to watch him grow and develop into the 7 month old genius he's become. Truly no child could have advanced in the same way he has as fast as he has. He is clearly gifted and special. The way he throws toys at my face, gets mad when he bounces too long, grabs himself when I change his diaper and bites Heather when nursing are clearly indications that he is going to be a doctor/lawyer/rock star/chef who cures cancer while simultaneously releasing the best rock album of all time and opens a restaurant 5 stars above French Laundry.

For those that are new parents, I offer a regular recurring post with definitions to help guide you through the first 7 months. Clearly, I am an expert now, and it might be good for you to know these definitions before they happen to you.

Stealth Vomit: Vomit you didn't know was there until you discover it 2 weeks later. You walk to an appointment, take off your jacket, only to discover a an artistic white splotch all the way down the back of it.

Stair Vomit: Like Stealth Vomit, except it secretly got in your hair. You thought you dodged a bullet a couple days earlier, when you moved your head to get out of the way of arial vomit (thanks to the game of airplane you were playing after he ate a big meal), only to discover a crusty patch of upchuck that had dried in your hair in the 2 days since you last were able to shower.

Shark Week Nipple: Once your baby grows teeth, it's like Shark Week on the discovery channel in there. Put a finger in, you might lose it. Eventually, your baby, when full and bored, will decide to test mom rather than feed. When that happens, it's like someone threw chum in the water and waited. It's only a matter of time before the baby shark decides to shoot out of the water and try to bite a nipple off. This leads to the sore Shark Week Nipple as I like to call it. Think we're gonna need a bigger boat.

Toyrony: When after receiving the spoils of excited grandparents and friends, your baby's favorite toy becomes something other than a toy. Like the bottom end of a lotion bottle. Charlie's favorite toy is the bottom end of a lotion bottle. Not the $100 bouncer, not the $30 bongos that play psychological warfare on my brain, but the bottom end of an empty squeeze bottle of skin moisturizer that costs $1.99. Bravo, Charlie, bravo. Oh delicious Toyrony.

Lieper: Like a dirty diaper, but full of lies. You'll go to change your young ward's diaper, smelling the aftermath in his pants, and when you open it up, he's still going. Not cool, dude, not cool. The only way to protect yourself is to seal it back up as fast as possible until the storm passes.

BTSD: Similar to tragedy victims who get PTSD, Blowout Traumatic Stress Disorder happens to parents after a particularly horrendous blowout that goes horribly awry. It's bad enough when you discovered that your baby has overloaded their diaper, then jumped up and down in their bouncer for an hour, pushing the tragedy to outlandishly comical and horrifying ends. Its quite another thing, when they are covered in said filth, and they then dip their foot right into it and then try to stick said foot into their mouth. Or if they grab themselves during sterilization and get some in their hand and try to put it in their mouth. After the initial parental response of trying to stop the incident from occurring, mom or dad might also have the sudden urge to gag, yet they can do nothing about getting fresh air until the baby is sterile. And so they repeatedly gag and stop tragedy over and over, until the baby is once again clean. This leaves them in a state of shock and awe, called BTSD, leaving them on the brink of madness. NOT COOL.

Just writing about it has given me BTSD. I have to go lie down now. More definitions some other time.

This will be brief because it is so gross and so scaring to my psyche.

Want to know how to make a dirty bomb? Take your child's diaper off just after you think they finished pooping. Apparently they can make it explode like a bomb, rather than just a drizzle. All over you.

The more you know. *Cue TMYK theme song*

I'm gonna go scrub my skin raw now.

Things I know about John Elway, The Greatest QB of all TIME:

1. He's extremely fast.
2. He's extremely tricky. Flea Flicker anyone?
3. He's awesome with the pump fake.
4. He's got laser perfect aim.
5. He has two superbowl rings.

So last night, at 3 am I'm all groggy, complacent and feeding Charlie when I discover a stinky diaper. I decided to change it. Then the following happened.

1. I place the new diaper under the old one and clean him off.
2. As I move the old diaper out of the way, he poops again. I rush to make sure there's no blast radius by blocking with the new diaper.
3. I reach for new diaper #2 while suddenly coming to the realization that I have not covered his junk. I reach for a pee pee teepee.
4. I turn back around and he's managed to use his laser perfect aim to pee in his own ear, and all over his pajamas. He got me with the pump fake.
5. I give him a championship ring for fastest pee-er ever.

I'm even more resolved to beat this kid at his game, but you win this time Charlie, you win this time. By the way, when you get older, don't try that on the football field. It could end badly.

Traveling to Netroots Nation this year was a ton of fun and as always an educational experience. I'm sad to see that Gina is retiring as director, but hopefully there will be much fun next year in Pittsburgh. Things I learned at the conference:

• Being away from my kid and wife now officially is a bowl of suck.
• Joe Trippi can look un-disheveled.
• I miss my kid.
• Old friends are good to catch up with.
• I perpetually wonder if I'm missing something cool that my kid did every minute I'm away from him.
• A lot more people than just my immediately family read this blog. I had no idea that many people were interested in poop.
• I can not handle booze like I used to.
• I can beat the smartest lawyer ever at poker.
• I often miss my wife.
• The Alamo Drafthouse is everything I hoped it would be and more.
• I like not being peed on.
• I was really excited to get 5 full nights of sleep. Too bad I still only got 1.
• I can not handle booze like I used to.
• Sometimes things I think will be exciting are in fact incredibly boring.
• Sometimes things I think will be boring are in fact incredibly exciting.
• Tearing up after watching a video of my kid yawning does not make me lame...I think.
• Sometimes, there can be such a thing as too many parties.
• I really can not handle booze like I used to.
• Austin is a awesome place.
• If you sponsor an event, the chance of you hearing your company get a shout out works in direct correlation with your inability to hold you bladder. The more you leave an event to pee, the more they will say your name without you there. If you stay in the room they will conversely refrain from mentioning you at all.
• Charlie and Heather can apparently function without me. That's disconcerting as everything is supposed to be about me.
• Everybody wants an Advoshirt.
• Being away from my kid and wife now officially is a factory of suck.

Can't wait till next year.

The Diaper Genie is not a magical man in a lamp that will grant you 3 baby poo wishes. No, instead the diaper genie is a poorly made plastic craptastic trash can of doom that will make your life a living hell or awesome depending on its mood, and it will rob you and take your wallet after it ransacks your nursery and dumps baby diapers all over the floor.

All of our parental friends sung the praises of the diaper genie as a life saver, as it seals all the diaper smells into a hermetically sealed sausage of plastic. We took their advice, but we took it to the next level and got the Diaper Genie II, supposedly the next evolution in the fight against the robots for the future.... er wait, in the diaper smell protection racket.

After about a week with the diaper genie, things were going smoothly. The DG and I had an understanding. Charlie would crap his pants, and I would take said pants and shove them into DG. DG would then protect us from Charlie's sulfuric discharges. I would then empty DG of the diaper sausage it had created and prep it for another round. However, newer isn't always better.

In the middle of the second week, apparently I angered DG and it broke on me, trapping a bunch of diapers above the seal, and a bunch below. I looked under the hood, and realized I had no idea how to put the contraption back together. A spring had popped off and some plastic pieces that I had no idea how to rearrange were laying on the inside. After a frantic search for the original instruction on using it, I found a picture that explained how it was put together. After an hour or two of futzing, I had apparently appeased the DG, as it went back to working as it was supposed to. All the extra diapers were stuffed into the top of a sausage wrap and my need for a hazmat suit was temporarily sated.

Cut to week 3. It broke again. And this time I noticed something fun. A little tiny plastic knob that was sealed onto the base of the genie had snapped off, causing it to perpetually break after 2 days of use. Rage filled my soul as I realized I was going to be trapped in a endless loop of sausge repair and toxic fumes, defeating the very purpose of the DP. I was determined to poor all my anger into the fine customer service representatives at playtex, the makers of the diaper genie. After finding no warranty information online, I assumed the worst about playtex. I predicted a phone call where I was put on hold for 30 minutes, and then they would decline my request for a replacement genie.

So I called them, enraged. After pressing a billion numbers to find a live person, I was put on hold. I knew it. They were gonna screw me. 18 minutes later, I finally got ahold of one of their evil service representatives. We'll call her Sharon. Sharon was appallingly nice, frustratingly understanding, and was unnervingly responsive to my issue. I had no way to channel my rage into her. She disarmed me, and offered to send a replacement genie immediately upon my sending in the old one with the free shipping label they send to me, and assured me that my experience was not the normal diaper genie experience. Additionally, she's sending along some coupons for DG sausage liners for my troubles

So maybe the diaper genie can still be magic. I'll keep you posted. In the interim, pray Charlie doesn't poop much.

So I realize that on this blog I will become the thing that so many people are wary of. I will eventually start boring people to tears with play by plays of every little thing Charlie does, ranging from fascinating essays about his poop, to dissertations on how when his little hands grab on to things it's clear that he's a supergenius (its obvious, you guys, he clearly is showing signs of advancement far beyond his age because he managed to pull his pacifier out of his mouth with his hand. He'll be using tools very soon.)

So acknowledging that ahead of time, I want you to know, I understand, that I am becoming boring parent guy. I have no control over it. It's a genetic thing that happens when you pro-create. I'm gonna start a separate blog about politics and other stuff, and leave all the boring family stuff on here, so the two never have to intersect.

In the interim, allow me to regale with you a nightmare horror story. About poop. Just because I can. (Charlie is gonna hate me later, but whatever.)

After Charlie's meconium phase he stopped pooping at all. We went 96 hours of nothing but pee. In exchange for no poop, we were given the gift from Satan himself, Sulfuric death farts that could kill all animal and plant life within a 10 mile radius. These things were more than toxic. They could put you on the floor. So after 96 hours of this we were starting to get nervous that Charlie would be that embarrassing smelly kid at school who all the other children shunned for fear he might make them smell like sulfur too. Finally after 4 days of nothing, he crapped all over himself. It was a glorious and victorious night, simultaneously thrilling, and disgusting. It's an amazing moment when you come to the realization that you are getting excited about poop. You become conflicted with feelings of relief that your kid can poop, and horror, that you get excited by such things.

The next night, I heard him pooping, and being the proactive guy I am, I grabbed him out of his crib before he started crying. I popped him onto the changing table, checked out his diaper, and sure enough, there was a nice big watery poop all over his little diaper. I proceeded through the motions of changing him, wiping him down, grabbing the replacement, when to my horror, the apocalypse came forth, because God apparently hates me.

Ever go to a fancy party and see a chocolate fountain? Now imagine that but with runny baby poo. Endless baby poo. I tried wiping the second round, but it just kept coming. Nothing would stop it. I screamed for backup. By the time Heather got up there I was on wetwipe #5 and frantically trying to stop the madness. 6 wetwipes and 2 diapers later, things were back under control. I now have Post Tramatic Stress Disorder, but that's a small price to pay in exchange for my kid being socially acceptable when he grows up.

The farts have gone. And now I bore my friends with poo play by play. Good times.

Charlie is mad, originally uploaded by Advodude.

We've made it home in one peace, and Charlie's grandparents gave us a 0 birthday BD cake and some champaign to celebrate the occasion. The pediatrician gave him a clean bill of health (other than the jaundice that is clearing up) and Heather seems better as well. I've learned alot in these first 72 hours, and I thought it might be good to share them with you.

• When your wife is in labor, and you hold her hand during an intense contraction, make sure your hand isn't near your groin, as she will grab anything she can to distract her from the pain. And you can't really tell her to let go.
• Labor is gross looking, but you won't care when its happening. You'll be too busy trying to keep things going well for your baby mama.
• Sleep should never be taken for granted.
• When my child cries, he sounds like a keebler elf being kept in stress positions by the CIA.
• Remember to cover a baby boys business with a diaper or some other item while changing him. Otherwise he might pee on you.
• Never change a diaper in your bed, because if you forget to cover up the baby's business, he'll pee on your bed. Also he might pee on you.
• Meconium is not as evil as everyone says it is. It is gross and sticky, but it doesn't smell, which I can not say the same about real poop.
• Speaking of which, babies seem to kick and fuss alot. Even when you are changing their diaper. And they don't care if their foot gets in the poop. Nor do they care if said foot ends up getting poop on their face. Mental note: keep their feet away from the poop.
• Beagles have no real passion to hang out with babies.
• Angel Kisses is a stupid name for an eyelid rash.
• Or maybe when he cries he sounds like a unicorn being waterboarded.
• Swaddling or what I like to call Burrito Wrapping your child is harder than it looks. However, everything this guy says is pretty much true. He's some kind of voodoo witch doctor.
• Beagles are surprisingly understanding about being knocked down a peg on the totem pole.
• Occasionally, when he cries, he might actually sound like a chipmunk being garroted .
• I'm directly responsible for the life of another human being. That's just plain wrong.