October 11, 2011

A HUGE Surprise For My Wedding Anniversary!

So…today is kind of a special day for me and the hubster, because it happens to be our 8th wedding anniversary. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, eight years ago today, the hubster took me off the market and made an honest woman out of me…or something to that effect.

To this day, I’m still not sure which one of us got the better end of the deal, because we can both be a pretty big pain in the ass at times.

All pains in the ass aside, however, somehow we make this shit work, even though it’s far from perfect.

We both work hard, and honestly, 98% percent of the time we lead completely separate lives, and it’s tough to remember that we are in fact, husband and wife, and not just “little dude’s parents.”

This past weekend, the two of us went off to Newport, Rhode Island for a little anniversary getaway minus the kiddo. And it was AWESOME.

The weather was in the mid-80s. Did  I mention that this is freakin’ October?

 

Somewhere in Newport...

 

Yes…that’s me. In a tank top. In Rhode Island. In OCTOBER. I had this cute little breezy shirt on over it, but felt the need to strip down to that tank top to avoid looking like a sweaty mess. Because being a sweaty mess on your anniversary trip just isn’t Mom Sexy.

Anyhow…it was wonderful to get away and to reconnect and to somehow act like a real couple and remember why we got hitched in the first place.

And then we came home, absolutely elated to see little dude again, and to give him a couple of surprises that we picked up for him on our trip.

But since little dude often likes to remind us that he is most definitely running the freakin’ show around here, he came up with a little surprise of his own to give us later on that night.

Actually, it was a HUGE surprise…conveniently disguised as one GIGANTIC STUCK POOP. Have you ever had a kid with a GIGANTIC STUCK POOP?

Trust me…you’re missing the show of the century if you haven’t seen this phenomenon.

Little dude went to bed fine, but then he woke up about an hour later saying that his butt hurt and he didn’t know why. We got him up, sat him down on the toilet…and watched him proceed to turn a bright shade of purple, and produce a rock-hard turd about the size of the dime.

And that’s when it hit us that this was no ordinary shit. We were definitely dealing with a GIGANTIC STUCK POOP.

We went straight from an alone weekend on the beautiful coast of Rhode Island, to hanging out in the bathroom with our five year-old waiting in completely anticipation of him finally passing the GIGANTIC STUCK POOP.

And finally, the evening concluded with the hubster sitting on the floor, little dude sitting on the shitter, and me hovering over little dude sticking a suppository in his ass while he giggled and begged me to keep doing it because he said he could feel the poop finally breaking loose.

And this, of course, had the hubster and I laughing so hard that we were both practically in tears.

Marriage may have it’s shitty moments…but sometimes you just have to recognize the little things that make life so special. Like helping your kid push out a GIGANTIC STUCK POOP and in turn, realizing what a great team you are.

Happy Anniversary to me and the hubster…and best wishes for a shit-free year going forward.

38 Comments
Posted Under: life after kids, poop
September 28, 2011

Parenthood Puts You In Your Place Sometimes

My son is five-years old. And I have to admit, I’m totally digging this age. He’s smart. He’s funny. He is still sweet and loves to cuddle, yet he is very independent and confident, which is a TOTAL plus.

Quite a few times in the past year, I’ve caught myself telling family and friends that this whole parenting thing is just “so much easier” at this age than it was when he was an infant or even a toddler.

Raising a five-year old IS definitely easier…and I AM getting my life back, so to speak, but every now and then as a mom, you get a firm reminder that you are in fact, a PARENT.

Because sometimes your kid totally puts you in your place like mine did tonight.

Just before bedtime tonight, little dude produced a HUGE poop. And not too long after said poop, he started kind of walking all weird and grabbing at his bum every five seconds.

This has happened before after he drops a big load, so I knew that I needed to go grab some diaper cream to put in there to ease the itching or burning or whatever the hell that big turd left him with.

I figured little dude would follow me into the bathroom to have his cream applied…but I was wrong.

Instead, I walked out of the bathroom and found him lying face down on the bed with his hands on his ass, spreading his butt cheeks apart so that I could put the cream in there.

And as I applied diaper cream directly into my son’s bare bum, I was reminded that I am above everything else, A MOM.

Yep…sometimes parenthood really puts you in your place.

Goodnight.

 

 

28 Comments
Posted Under: life after kids, poop
August 15, 2010

Raise Your Hand If You Know What A Blowout Is

I had the pleasure of spending most of the past week in Washington, D.C. with my hubby for his annual International Conference. I actually haven’t been to one of these shin-digs in about two years, and I’m so glad that I decided to come to this one! It was at the Gaylord National Harbor Resort and Convention Center, and it rocked.

The hubster works for a great company, with an awesome group of people. They are so awesome, in fact, that sometimes it feels more like hanging out with friends you’ve known for years than your typical office crowd.  And though I did get a bit tipsy at the piano bar that we went to on the first night I got to D.C., I’m fairly confident that I didn’t do anything to embarrass myself, or my hubby for that matter.

Or at least I haven’t heard any rumors about my behavior being anything less than appropriate.  And no incriminating pictures have surfaced on Facebook.  Yet.

Of course, being that some of us in the group are parents, you know that there was one particular subject of conversation that just HAD to make an entrance at some point.  I mean, it’s seriously just a “must discuss” kind of topic.

And that point came last night, ladies and gentlemen, while we were all dressed up in our finest attire and sitting around our table at the Awards Banquet for the last night of the conference.

And yes, I’m talking about poop, in case you hadn’t caught on yet.

My husband’s boss was looking at his Blackberry and laughing at the funny posts that were coming in from one of their other co-workers wives, who couldn’t make it to D.C. this year.  Of particular interest, she said something along the lines of, “Now I officially know what the definition of a blowout is.”

Yes, she was talking about a diaper.  And yes, she was talking about a diaper FILLED with poop.

Her niece was visiting from out of town, and what started out as an innocent fart turned into the end-all-be-all of diaper explosions. Every parent knows EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

I won’t go into any more detail than to say that in addition to the blowout, she made a reference to beef stew, and a reference to peas.

And then we all had a good laugh about diaper blowouts and dug into our plates of pesto-stuffed chicken and risotto. (Although I refused to eat the chicken because I’m going through a bit of a “fear of consuming chicken in public” phase).

And nobody gagged.

Isn’t hanging out with other parents the best?  I can’t wait for next year’s conference!

*On a side note, I know I’ve been M.I.A. for the past couple of weeks and it feels great to be back!  I had a great vacation with my boys at the Cape, started my new job as a Celebrity Parenting Blogger for Babble.com, learned that there really are some crazy lunatics in this world who have nothing better to do than read celebrity blogs and tell me how much they hate me, decided to turn on comment moderation on this blog for a little damage control, and now I’m on my way home from D.C. and I’m ready to rock and roll.  Stay tuned for an exciting announcement about The Mommyologist coming next week!”

24 Comments
Posted Under: poop
June 7, 2010

The Butt-Sniff: A True Sign of Friendship

Good morning everyone! Please bear with me…I returned from my girls’ weekend in TN late last night and I’ve only had two cups of coffee so far. And two just ain’t gonna cut it today. Because Mama really can’t party like she used to. But I’m still one hell of a good hang if I do say so myself.

I spent the last two days down in Knoxville visiting my best friend and former roommate from my University of Tennessee days. She and I were quite the tag team back then. And I won’t elaborate too much on the kind of antics that we used to partake in, but I will admit that beer funnels were involved on more than one occasion. Oh yeah…you guessed it. We were the SUPER classy chicks on campus.

And even though our days of band parties on frat row and scoring free beer from the local deli on campus are long gone, we still manage to have the time of our lives every time we get together. We just happen to have a side kick with us now, disguised as her adorable 9-month old daughter.

One of our other best buds from college also joined us this weekend, and she and I took on the babysitting duties on Saturday evening so that our other partner in crime could indulge in the luxury of taking a shower and blow-drying her hair without having to lug the pack-and-play into her bathroom.

And while we were watching the munchkin, she started making some cute little grunting noises. I immediately assumed that she had “done her business”, so I did what any mother would do in order to verify that a “Code Brown” had occurred. I picked her up in front of me and took a huge whiff of her tiny little tush. And my other friend looked a little bit horrified when I did it. But she’ll be a butt sniffer too someday. She just doesn’t know it yet.

As a mom, I have sniffed my own child’s ass in order to confirm poopage more times than I can even dream of counting. And it may sound kind of gross to people who don’t have kids, so let me put it into perspective:

It’s a hell of a lot better than sticking your finger into the side of the diaper and having it come out covered in fudge. Not that I ever tried that method.

I always knew that I loved my friend, but I was really reminded of just how close we are when I stuck my nose right up to HER baby’s butt. I didn’t even think twice. And it didn’t even gross me out in the slightest. Because even though I’ve only seen that baby two times since my friend gave birth to her, I love her like she was my own. Because she is a part of my friend, and my friend is a part of me. And she would totally sniff my son’s ass too.

The Mommyologist and BFF

Double Trouble

We had a great laugh about the whole ass-sniff scenario, and I started telling her about another close friend of mine up here in CT who has two kids. There was a point about a year and a half ago when her kids and mine were all still in diapers. And we would smell something in the room, declare that someone had pooped, and then she and I would start picking up kids, regardless of whether they belonged to us or not, and would sniff their butts to see who had the steamer.

There’s no need for Hallmark cards or any of that sentimental shit when you are a mom. I’ve discovered the true sign of a lifelong friendship. It’s reciprocal butt sniffing.

Ok, it’s time for that 3rd cup of coffee now.

49 Comments
Posted Under: friendship, girls weekend, poop
May 18, 2010

Marriage Means Putting Up With Crap

I have been married to my husband for almost seven years, and we’ve been officially together for almost nine.  And throughout the course of our courtship and nuptials, both of us have really put up with more than our share of crap from each other.  Ok, ok, so I know you’re probably puzzled as to how it is possible that someone who is as completely charming as me gives her husband any sort of grief. Well let me be the first to tell you that this mama can really dish it out.  I can be a total pain in the ass…but I guess maybe that’s part of my allure?

I mean, I’ve yelled at the poor dude for things that I really just have no business yelling at him for…like using the half bath downstairs to do a number two instead of going upstairs and cowering away in poop shame in the master boudoir.  That one has set me off more than once.  But shouldn’t the man be allowed to do his business on any throne he chooses in HIS OWN HOME? Apparently that request is just way too big for The Mommyologist.  Because for whatever reason, man poop just really turns her off. And we all know that she shits ice cream.

And every time that I give the poor hubster a hard time about his bathroom location choice, he just kind of mumbles, “Ok, ok, I’m really sorry….” and sprays a ton of air freshener and vows to trek up the stairs the next time nature calls.  And sometimes I really don’t know why he lets me off the hook so easy for being such a mega-bitch.  Because what he SHOULD say to me each time that I deem myself to be the “Poop Cop” is:

“LISTEN woman…this is MY house and I work hard to pay the damn mortgage and because I work hard to pay the damn mortgage it gives me the right to drop a deuce in any bathroom in this house without any objections from my wife!!”

As hard as it’s going to be, I think that, starting today, May 18th, the Poop Cop is just going to have to turn in her badge.

Because sometimes in a marriage, you really have to suck it up and put up with a load of crap.  It’s just part of the deal.

And my wonderful husband took that concept to a whole new level this past weekend.

You see, instead of spending Saturday outside enjoying the beautiful, nearly 70 degree sunny weather with our four year old, the hubster and I spent the better part of the day in the Emergency Room with me hooked up to an IV looking white as a ghost.  My parents were in town for the first time in way over a year, and we’d been out to dinner the night before to celebrate my Dad’s birthday.  And as I sat there and looked at the menu at the fairly upscale establishment we were dining at, I debated over whether to order a filet and baked potato, or the filet and crab-cake combo with the baked potato.  And if I had a time machine, I would most definitely travel back to Friday night and tell myself to forgo the damn crab-cake.  Because the doctors were 99% sure that it was what landed me in the ER with severe dehydration.  You can figure out the other ugly details on your own.

In order to determine what exactly was making me sick, the nurse told me that they were going to need “a sample.”  And I’m not talking about peeing in a cup, though I had the pleasure of doing that too.

And in order to obtain this sample, I had to unhook my IV bag from it’s little rack and carry it into the bathroom with me.  And being the great guy that he is, my hubby offered to stand in the bathroom with me and hold that IV bag so that I could, quite literally, shit into a hat.  I politely declined his offer because I figured I HAD to draw the line somewhere.

But before he handed me the IV bag and shut the bathroom door, he asked if I needed anything.  And it was at that point that I looked at him and said, “Yeah…can you please pull down my thong so I can go?  I can’t do it with one hand.”

And I’m sure being that this was a Saturday and we had my parents in town so we had a free babysitter and were supposed to have a date night that night and all, the hubster would’ve LOVED for me to ask him to pull down my thong.  But I’m pretty sure this wasn’t the scenario he had in mind.

There I was, in an Emergency Room bathroom, asking the hubster to pull down my thong so that I could give the nurse a stool sample.  Not exactly a Mom Sexy moment.

Yeah, this poor guy has put up with more than his share of crap.  And minus my parents and a couple choice girlfriends, there isn’t another person on this planet who would.

I love you honey.  And yes, you can do whatever you want in the half bath from now on.  And if I try and change my mind in the future, you only need to say two words to me.  ”STOOL SAMPLE.”

59 Comments
Posted Under: marriage, poop
April 21, 2010

Poop: A Fine Dinner Party Topic

“Oh yeah, the mustard seed looking poops are just way less gross than those black ones that come out for the first few days after bringing the baby home.”

Those exact words (roughly) came out of my mouth the other night at a dinner party hosted by my husband’s boss and his wife just as I was about to sink my teeth into a nice fat juicy piece of pesto shrimp.  And I bit down on that jumbo shrimp like it was my job and it was absolutely delicious and I didn’t even flinch at the fact that I was chomping down on that shrimp while enjoying a delightful conversation about baby poop.  And I didn’t even consider once that the pesto on the shrimp sorta resembled mustard seeds.  Because once you have a baby, your whole world completely revolves around poop and it is just totally irresistible to talk about the poop with other parents at every chance you get because you know that other parents are the only people who you CAN talk about the poop with and not run the risk of someone losing their lunch.  Or in this case, their shrimp.

You see, the couple hosting the party just had a baby like three weeks ago.  And I love how they just went ahead and jumped feet first into the whole poop euphoria thing without a second thought.  Because the first step to accepting the fact that your world is now being completely controlled by a pint-sized poop machine is being able to talk about it without any reservations.

And of course, me being The Mommyologist sort of has me under the delusion that I am some sort of baby poop expert even though I know better than to think that I’m really that knowledgeable just because I’ve outfitted myself with a fancy title. And of course, our little discussion opened the floor for me to throw in one of my favorite poop stories from our son’s infant days.  There’s nothing like regaling a tale of your son shitting himself while sitting on an airplane and waiting a good 30 minutes to take off to make you feel just a tad bit nostalgic for your diaper changing days.

And yes, I’m totally kidding.  But now I’m kind of panicking a bit because as I typed out that last sentence, the thought went through my mind that my son is OUT of diapers now, but when he has to shit, he HAS TO SHIT, and if we are ever stuck on an airplane runway again and aren’t allowed to get up and use the lavatory, then we’re probably going to have a SERIOUS “Code Brown” going on in our row.  Good grief…I need a vodka just thinking about that scenario.

Ok, back to the dinner party and back to the baby poop…not that we were ever really OFF the poop topic.  Once you become a parent, it’s almost like you’ve entered some kind of secret club or fraternity or something like that.  And the initiation into that elite club?  Oh yeah…you guessed it!  BEING POOPED ON.  Or AT.  Or in the GENERAL VICINITY OF. Whatever. You catch my drift.

I thought that a nice way to welcome these two new parents into the club would be to open the forum and let my readers tell me their favorite poop story.  Because you all know you have one.

C’mon…you KNOW you are just DYING to leave a comment detailing your story.  We’re all in this together folks!

This is your chance to shine.  Make it count.

30 Comments
Posted Under: life after kids, poop
January 27, 2010

What the Heck? Wednesday: Please Let Me Out!

For the past week or so, I truly feel as though I’ve become a prisoner in my own home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my house and I actually love being at home most of the time, but throw in a kid with a fever and a hacking cough, and then throw in the terrible head cold that I caught from the little guy doing most of that coughing directly in my face, (poor little thing just wanted to sit in my lap the whole time he was sick, and I really didn’t complain at all because I’ll take cuddles whenever I can get ‘em) and you’ve got yourself one seriously cooped up woman.

I had been looking forward to last weekend for months. Every year, on whatever weekend falls around January 24th, my mother and I meet in Pittsburgh (my hometown) and stay with my grandfather for the weekend (he’s 89 and in a band…totally cool dude) and we go out for dinner at The Capital Grille to celebrate what would be my grandmother’s birthday (she passed away when I was 12). You really can’t beat a steak dinner at The Capital Grille (that is, unless Del Frisco’s ever comes to Pittsburgh), but even more so, you really can’t beat a weekend of hanging out with all of my family who still lives there. One thing is certain, whenever I take a trip to my hometown, I pretty much laugh from the minute I get off the plane until the minute I get back on the plane to come home. I seriously think that someone in Hollywood could write a sitcom about my crazy Polish/Slovak family. They’re awesome. And I just couldn’t wait to see each and every single one of them. And because of the fact that my sinuses were so clogged up that my right eye was practically swollen shut, I had to cancel my trip for fear of my head exploding on the plane. And I missed that dinner at The Capital Grille. And I missed seeing my family. And I missed out on a whole lot of laughs. Guess there’s always next year. What the heck?

On the one occasion where I did manage to make it out of the house last week, I got pretty psyched because Puffs tissues with lotion were 4 for $5 at the Big Y. I seriously don’t think that I’ve ever blown my nose more in my life than I did with this particular head cold. I think I went through a box and a half of Puffs in one day alone! At one point, I went to reach for one and realized that the box was no longer on the half-wall between our kitchen and family room where I’d left it. I started scanning the room, and that’s when I heard a sort of “shuffling” sound back in the kitchen area. I turned around, and my little man had taken my box of tissues, plus another empty box (yes, it was sitting on my counter and I hadn’t bothered to throw it away yet, and yes, it had been sitting there for a couple days), and was wearing them on his feet and saying that he was going ice skating. I realized that if the boxes were on his feet, then that meant the tissues had to have gone somewhere. I was right. He’d taken each and every single one of them out and they were lying on the floor in my dining room. And I had only used like two or three out of the box before he did it. What the heck?



(Don’t worry, my floors are relatively clean and I picked up those tissues and used every single one of them).

In the past couple days, things have really seemed to be looking up. Everyone is on the mend and I think this cold is finally exiting our house (or at least I hope it is)! I was so glad that my little guy was able to go back to preschool yesterday after missing all of last week. I was just so happy that he would finally get to play with his little friends again and do all sorts of fun projects. Ok, you’re right…the real reason I was happy about him going back to school is because I’ve grown accustomed to having a two and a half hour break twice a week and I really just needed a little time to myself. Everything went smooth as could be yesterday morning, and then I picked my son up from school and brought him home for lunch. (Ok, so I stopped and picked him up a Happy Meal on the way home, but whatever. Don’t judge. At least I fed the kid).

Somewhere around 1:30pm, the little guy announced to me that he needed to go poop. I followed him into the bathroom, sat him down on the seat…and that is when the screaming started. The poor thing managed to squeeze out a couple of teeny-tiny rock poops, but unfortunately the mother load was still in there, packed tight and totally stuck. I helplessly watched as my son tried with all his might to push that thing out of his little tush, but it was just way too big and it was hurting him way too bad and he just kept screaming and I honestly wasn’t sure what to do. This had happened to us a couple of times before, but both times he was a lot younger and didn’t really notice when I jammed a suppository into his butt for relief. The kid has definitely wised up since then. I looked at him and calmly said, “Mommy is going to run upstairs and get something that will help you, honey.” He looked right back at me and yelled, “NO MOMMMMMYYYY!! I don’t want you sticking your finger in my butt!”

Let’s be honest. I wanted to help my kid, but I really didn’t want to stick my finger in his butt either, and I knew that there was absolutely no way in hell that he was going to let my finger get within one foot of his rear end. I wound up just taking him off the toilet, pulling his pants up, and then taking him over to the couch where he proceeded to lay face down because he “didn’t want the poop to come out.” That’s when I realized that we were going to be stuck in this house for the rest of the day until the king of all turds made its exit. I had officially been taken hostage by a gigantic poop. What the heck?

I immediately started pumping my son full of apple juice and the apple dippers from his McDonald’s lunch in the hopes that the fiber would help him break loose. We made a couple more trips to the bathroom, complete with more screaming and no relief. And then I called my mom for support. And that’s when she informed me that FedEx would be showing up at my house that afternoon with a big box full of Valentine goodies for her grandson. And then the doorbell rang while I was still on the phone with her and my little guy jumped off the couch and ran to see who it was. And then he opened the door and saw that big box on the porch and just knew that it was something for him. And then I opened the box for him and he started opening all of his treats from Grams. And my mom was just so excited that the box came while I was on the phone with her so that she could hear his reactions to all of his presents. And then she had the pleasure of hearing the screaming that I’d been listening to all afternoon.

It turns out that the box arriving was exactly what my son needed to start running around and jumping up and down, which got his mind off the stuck poop. His excitement shook everything loose, and after watching him turn purple and holler like hell on the toilet while grabbing the little handles on his potty seat, and after coming back to reality after the flashback this gave me of myself in the labor and delivery room almost four years ago, I finally heard a nice big “kerplunk!” and a splash in the bowl. Thank GOD.

Later on that evening after the hubster got home, he took the little man upstairs to give him a bath. A couple minutes later, one of our neighbors stopped by to pick up some gift baskets that I am donating for a raffle at a benefit that he and his wife (one of my very good friends) are attending this Saturday. My husband looked over the railing in our foyer and yelled hello to our friend and our friend waved and yelled hello back to him, and to our son. Our little stud then peered down at him through the bars of the railing and said, “Mike! I had a big stuck poop today!!” What the heck?




23 Comments
Posted Under: poop, What the Heck? Wednesday
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