We've had a new development as Sadie ages. She is nursing less and eating more solid food. She hasn't quite grasped the joy of the bottle so her fluid intake is dropping. We're having to suppleament with water we squirt down her throat from a medicine dropper. If we forget or she won't take it she doesn't get enough liquid.
Did you know that your colon regulates the amount of water your body holds? If you don't get enough your poop is the first to loose water - causing constipation. Sadie, who cannot walk around, has an extra bit of trouble as her bowls don't jiggle in her body like ours do. That poop just doesn't work itself out like it needs to.
Sadie was incredibly bottled up in Oregon. She'd nurse a bit, look stern in the face and work on the nugget in her colon. We would strip her clothes, rip off her diaper, pull back her legs and watch her prairie dog a turd, and watch it disappear back up inside of her.
This happened at least 3 times while I was present, and perhaps more when I was not. Eventually we called an ask-a-nurse who advised, "perhaps you should see a doctor?" Annoyed, we went to Wal Mart, at mid-night, waited for some amazing looking people to count out pennies for their sugar colas and candy bars so we could buy baby suppositories. We rushed home, undid poor Sadies clothes and armed Christie with a rubber glove. We opened the package of suppositories and took out what seemed a mideival lance, broke it in half and rammed it up her poor, clogged corn-hole.
She immediately pushed, not because of any other reason than it was time, and she poked a bit out. Christie, armed with a glove, broke off the piece that stuck out. Then she fished out a bit more. And it then blasted out, screams, whole amazing chunks of poop. And then another. We three, Christie, myself, and Merm-in-law, all in a triangle surrounding Sadie watched mouth agape. I, holding Sadie's legs back, thought it would have been an impressive load for an adult, let alone a 20 pound special needs baby.
Christie and I had a similar episode tonight, except we didn't have a rubber glove, and Christie's nails are pretty long, so we used a plastic bag. The kind you'd put apples in. I'm not sure we're into this kind of BM so we're going to increase water intake, see about a stool softener, and perhaps look into a wet/dry vacuum with a tiny hose attachment.
We didn't think a photo essay was appropriate.
I told my mom about this, and perhaps other parents know this too, but apparently this is a somewhat common happening among the memberhood of paternity. When I read the "becoming a parent" brochure at the baby shop it only had pictures of cute babies cooing and smiling. Apparently, we're now indoctrinated into an inner secret of poop-pullers as legions have come forward, proudly, telling of similar stories. I never thought, in my life, I'd eagerly stand over a girl waiting for her to poop, watching hopefully as one girl reaches inside the other and yanks out crap. It is a cruel world we live in and now, I cannot imagine there are worse things yet to happen. Are their circles that we've yet to endure as parents that are as awful as poop pulling?