Backed Up

Let’s get right to it. Constipation’s a bitch. We’ve all been there. No one enjoys it. Some go the route of Metamucil, laxatives, or over-the-counter stool softeners. Others prefer the dried fruit/bran consumption path. With a 13-month old, we preferred the latter approach combined with cheese abstinence – which is very difficult for this family.

So why do I bring this up? Perhaps my inspiration tool box is a bit blocked up as well this week, but mostly because constipation has been dominating the T household headlines. (Pardon the absence of "industry standard" in the following - I can't figure out the spacing.)

INT. OFFICE LAW FIRM

DENNIS sits at his desk typing furiously on his computer keyboard as his office phone rings incessantly around him, which clearly interrupts, bothers, and disrupts him. His tie is crooked. His hair is disheveled. His face is more wrinkly than normal. His cell phone begins to ring. He opens the phone and places it to his ear.

DENNIS
(wincing)
Hi.

WIFE
Well she finally pooped. Good one, too.

A co-worker knocks on his door. DENNIS waves her off politely while mouthing that it’s the WIFE on his phone.

DENNIS
Wow. (pause) That’s great.

WIFE
Yep. It wasn’t hard like the last one. She didn’t cry either.

DENNIS
(nodding )

The office phone rings again. DENNIS ignores it.

WIFE
Just thought you’d like to know.

DENNIS
Okay, heart you big time.

WIFE
Heart you right back. Oh, WAIT! I have something really important to ask you. What should we have for dinner tonight?

DENNIS
(sighing loudly) I gotta go.

We’re not sure of the cause for G’s pipes being backed up. We think it may be due to her recent conversion from formula bottles to whole milk plus the tail end of an antibiotic cycle for the latest ear infection. It honestly broke our hearts to witness it but when she pooped during this period, she cried and writhed in pain until the stool passed. When the poo finally flung into the diaper, its consistency was like play-doh that’s been sitting exposed for like 12 hours – not quite hardened but definitely no longer malleable.

Last weekend, we ventured to Strong Island, New York to visit the wife’s college BFF and husband, as well as some relatives on my mom’s side, and a few of my own college besties on the way back home. At each of our stops, we fed poor G-sizz with prunes, raisins, fiber one bars, prune juice, pears, and a double espresso. Her digestive system was like a Republican senate minority, just instinctively saying no to anything that came down the pike.

Fast forward to the Mass. Pike last Sunday night. As we approached the eastbound Charlton rest stop, we detected a faint hint of dumpsky in the air and decided to pull over. As I unbuckled G’s car seat belts and lifted her out, I saw that one of her pant legs had the appearance as if she had slid into home plate on a rainy day.

We jogged quickly inside as I held my baby under the pits. I went into the men’s room but a dad and son were bogarting the koala ahead of us. Panic-stricken, I ran back to the arcade area in the hopes of catching mama before she entered the ladies’ room. A waiting and sympathetic bystander mom motioned towards a door. “Family restroom,” she said. “Thanks!” I responded.

After placing our protective sheet down, I laid G onto the changing station and buckled her in. This was going to be tricky.

I tried to do what I could. Unfortunately, every ounce of dried fruit that my daughter consumed that weekend appeared to have manifested in and around her diaper. I opened the door and yelled for mama. She was kibitzing with one of our best friends who had left New York before us next to the Buck Hunter machine.

Long story short: three parents, a sacrificial onesy, a full outfit change, a crying/naked 13-month old, and many, many paper towels and wipes later, we had a happy little girl again. Somehow, the wife managed miraculously to salvage G’s pants. Nothing like having a stranger open the door to see me consoling an unhappy toddler as the wife washed poopy pants in a sink. Kudos mom!

My profuse apologies to the custodian of Charlton’s Rest Stop family restroom. My gratitude to Helen Zilla for assisting in our time of need. And my special thanks to Sunsweet Gold Label prune juice. May this message find all of you on a comfortable and regular schedule.