Torque

Many of you know my family spent some time at Children's last week while our daughter was being evaluated. She was diagnosed, thankfully, with Celiac Disease, an intolerance to gluten. With a proper gluten-free diet, her intestines will heal and she will lead a normal life. We are beyond grateful that a diet change is the only course of action we need. We know how lucky we are, especially after spending even a few moments in the lobby.

I went for a follow-up visit this week, to see a nutritionist. I rolled into the parking lot 20 minutes early, knowing that with stroller set-up and pedestrian walking greens, I would be to my appointment right on time. I have a double stroller, natch, because I have two small children. I love this stroller, if you can love a stroller. Check it out here. Well, upon set-up, I realized that with all of my walks with the girls, the top part of the handle had come unscrewed. The screw was there, and I knew that a few quick twists with one of those thingy dingy Phillips head would do the trick. Would I have that in the car? Yes, I would. Why? Because my stepfather Frank, makes it a point to scare the hell out of us and force us into having an emergency kit. I have to admit, we've laughed a few times at the Rubbermaid tub in my trunk, filled with flares, spark plugs, anti-freeze, oil, a poncho (you know, in case it's wet or you have to pee on a boat) and yes, a small tool kit.

I knew I had no chance hefting around a 23 pound toddler and a growing infant in her car seat WITH a diaper bag (filled to the brim with two sets of diaper sizes, clothing 'just in case' and 97 snacks for my fussy and now gluten-free toddler) and my purse. I was a few minutes late due to my last minute stroller-project, but I was thrilled I didn't have to reschedule.

This reminded me of my driver's ed days. Frank was always even keeled and even toned in our driving time together. "Regulate your speed." "Turn on your high beams." "Turn off your high beams." "Jen, turn off your high beams." and on and on. He likened driving a standard to having the proper amount of, you guessed it, torque. (I'm still not sure to this day what it means.) So, despite my eye-rolling (not me!), huffing and puffing, and arguing about your 'good intentions', I know I'll eat a little crow on this one, and I don't mind a bit.

Does crow have gluten?

Poop

Poop. It's the new black. It starts of course when you're a new parent and you analyze every single diaper to ensure that you're giving your baby enough milk (or formula or a hybrid). Did she do two poops today? Check. Did she wet 10 diapers today? Check. Sigh. Okay, we're not starving her...fabulous. You then start to shove your face into your baby's shorts with wild abandon...no shame at all. If you can't tell, you'll peek. It's all part of becoming a parent, and poopspeak becomes part of your everyday vernacular. Example:

"Hey baby...how's the day going so far?"

"It's good. She went down for about 45 minutes and ate like a banshee when she got up."

"Cool. How are her poops?"

"Well, the first one was like a rocket. I had to do the laundry and give her a bath because it was up her back and in the folds of her neck. Smelled kinda sweet though. The second one was like a huge lump...really stinky. It took like 3 wipes to clean that up....it was stuck to her bum, must have been her formula poop."

"Good, good. What do you want for dinner?"

And so it goes. You can easily differentiate those who know poop and those that only know their own poop. If they get a wiff of your kid, their nose looks scrunched up and you can tell they're offended and horrified and wish the hell you'd just clean it up, and fast. I will say, for the record, that this very idea was squashed when my singleton New Yorker friend not only woke up with my toddler (I was sleeping with the newborn), but cleaned her VERY poopy morning bum. And you know how those can be. Fragrant and mushy. Niiiiice. (Thanks Kathryn).

So lately, our oldest has a bit of a thing. She's been sick, you see, and although she's on the mend, it's been all about her poop. We talk about her poop ad naseum, and for good reason. It's really all about the texture. Too much liquid means she could be getting dehydrated. Too little liquid and I feel the need to trick her into drinking Pedialyte. It's an interesting twist on pillow talk.

"How many poops today? I mean, I got three so were there any more?"

"Yeah, she had that doozy after dinner. Remember? We had to give her a bath right away. We had to do two rinses."

"Oh right. It's funny...she made that face at the dinner table...you know, her face got all red and her eyes watered. She was holding on to her little booster seat, I think her knuckles were white."

"Haaaa. So, eh....you look pretty nice tonight..."

Or something like that.

I know this is temporary. But the poopspeak will continue, I mean..we have potty training right around the corner! I can imagine after that, too, we'll keep talking about it. "Did you do a poop in the potty?", and the like.

So for now I'll stay in the moment, and enjoy my times with my girls on the changing table...making funny faces and singing poopy songs. Before I know it, they'll be wearing big girl underpants and wanting time alone in the bathroom.

Hold on...I smell something.

Networked

I have so much to say. It's been an interesting month, and thankfully the computer is back and hooked up. Sadly, I've lost all private documents and all the personal pictures that I didn't upload to a photo sharing site. Don't even get me started because I've cried too much about that already. Thankfully, I've burned them into my brain, my heart. And, although I'd love to dash something more substantial off into cyberspace, there are dueling Red Sox and Patriot's games on...and hubby needs help with his outfit for tomorrow. So the broken computer was a blessing and a curse. Write about life, but get off the computer to have one.