Someday, probably not too far off into the distant future, Isaiah is going to ask, probably demand, why I wrote about him so much in a public domain.  Specifically, he will want to know why I wrote about something so personal, so private to his life and dared to share it with 6 billion people (minus the folks with no internet access).

After seven days of only wet diapers, Isaiah finally pooped.

It was one week ago when it all began.  I noticed he hadn’t had any soiled diapers.  Didn’t freak out until day #2, but was somewhat mitigated by Nick, the unflappable father, who remarks,”I’m sure it’s normal.  He’s probably fine.”

And then day #5 came.  We finally got a hold of a nurse at the office who instructed

1) Prunes.  Lots of prunes.

2) Put him on his belly

3) Soak his fanny.  (And she did say fanny.)

4) Rectal thermometer.  (Oh dear…)

5) Pediatric laxative.

So, Isaiah turned into something close to a 20lb. fig when I started feeding him baby prunes.  He loved them, but not BM.

Soaked him.  Twice.  Nothing happened.

He went to the doctor who felt his stomach and figured it’s probably just his digestive system getting used to solids.  It probably doesn’t help that I fed him bananas.

And then this morning.  Day #7, he was playing on the floor, with a big grin on his face.  And then suddenly he went still, a peaceful look on this face and I looked up from my chair, wondering if a garbage truck had entered the room because the most FOUL odor wafted across my face.

He went.  He went big time.

And I rejoiced with him.  Coaxing him along, in the likes of Drill Baby Drill, “Poop Baby Poop!”

When he was done, his eyes got doubled lidded, he gave me a sloppy smile and fell asleep on the changing table.

Rejoice in the clean-up!  That’s my advice to BP.