Ever wonder why new parents spend so much time talking about baby poop? Because it's fucking fascinating, that's why!
Babies who are exclusively breast-fed have watery mustard yellow poop that smells a little like popcorn--in the same way that dogs' paws smell like popcorn, I guess. It's a little bit sweet and not really unpleasant at all. Sometimes it turns green, and when that happens it's because of an imbalance in the bacteria of the gut. So for the first 6 months or so you can enjoy not having people run like hell when your baby starts grunting and farting without being the least bit embarrassed about it, and you can even change baby's diaper right there at the airport gate on the floor without offending anyone's sense of smell.
Well, we all know babies can't live on milk forever (though it would be much more convenient for me--what with all the baby food jars and spoons and things that eating non-milk food requires). When they start adding solids to their diets, their poop starts becoming more solid as well. And I suppose I should have been prepared for some other changes, but I will admit that I was utterly surprised to find what appeared to be smashed cooked carrots in Maia's diaper today. It was as if the carrots she had at lunch yesterday had passed through her completely unchanged, like they were just taking a ride on the Chunnel and would be on their way.
But what I was *really* unprepared for was how--in the 2 seconds I stood marveling at the diaper full of pumpkin pie--Maia's little hand managed to make a swift grab at her lady parts, plucking up a chunk of carrot poop on its merry way. This is where the mommy reflexes come into play...at the same time, and as quickly as possible, the poop-infested hand must be grabbed and wiped, while keeping the other hand away from the poop-covered nether regions, not to mention blocking baby's sock-covered, kicking feet from becoming the next to fall victim to fecal staining. Then there's still the matter of actually wiping the poop from baby's bottom and maneuvering a new diaper on before she decides it's a good time to pee. Dads just can't handle this kind of high-stress situation (at least in my house, I think this scenario would have ended up with both Dad and baby covered in orange poop and Dad swearing at me as if it were my fault). Oh wait a second, I'm the only one who changes diapers in this house so, nevermind.
Hmmm, I wonder when it'll be alright to feed Maia blueberries. Maybe that day I'll insist that it's Dad's turn for diapers.