Zane just pooped himself to sleep.
It had been an arduous hour, with a nursing session of much growling, whining, and tugging at the nipples that lead to much growling on my part as well. A brief play session in his bouncy chair and then that, too, elicited red faced consternation. I pick him up and he attempts to latch on to my neck. I know he isn’t hungry (via previous nursing session) so I go to lay him down on the kitchen mat while I finish stirring what would be dinner. He starts crying the minute he is horizontal-not even touching the mat! I know he is tired-since nap time should have been after nursing-so I figure I’d try nursing him down in the room with the lights off.
Ensue more growling, weeping, and gnashing of gums. He’s past merely tired at this point and in full meltdown mode. So I’m holding him, and singing, and bouncing, and patting…and he’s nuzzling, and arching his back, and rubbing his eyes, and shrieking…and then I feel a soft floop on my arm that is under his fluffy bum. He settles for a second, eyes red, then screams again until a moment of tension releases into another soft plllsssshhh. He continues to quietly poop himself to sleep, until with a final ParrrrLOOOSH he passes out in my arms.
I am now holding one extremely tired soundly sleeping baby-with a full to the brim poopy diaper.
Now, I’m guessing a lot of moms dont mess with poop, and they would’ve changed Zane lickety split and then tried to get him back to sleep. But it only took a second of deliberating about waking up my FINALLY asleep baby to flip him on his back and listen to him scream while I try to wipe down his writhing backside and keep his feet from kicking into the mess and then attempt to REsettle him and I was like, nope.
So I put him in the crib, poop and all. I’ll change him when he wakes.
Babies. A joy and a privilege. And gross.