I read so much about the horror that is baby poop. How awful the first one would be down to how explosive it would become. Not once was I surprised by my sons poop… until now. Now he’s not pooping in every diaper, its more like he’s storing it all up for one really awful disaster. I started calling them “B” Bombs (baby bombs). They are now getting just a little more solid, starting to get an odor, and covering everything within the confines of that diaper. There will be so much poop it goes out the sides and up the back of the diaper leaving quite the stain on his onesies. I’ve been fortunate enough to not have experienced a “B” Bomb when he’s fresh from the tub and no diaper to protect anything… Though I’m sure that time will come soon enough.
You can read anything and everything and assume you are prepared for those explosion diapers. But experiencing has been quite an amusement. You can’t bother being upset or grossed out by it. I’ve come to the understanding that laughing through most of these motherhood experiences makes it a little bit easier. During his fussy hours, late night feedings, and especially during the “B” Bombs. I just breathe and chuckle, because I know it will only get worse, and every minute of it is precious. I was given a miracle. My husband and I decided to get pregnant, and we were a month later. I had a relatively uncomplicated pregnancy. And although his beginning was rough, he is perfectly healthy now. So every “B” Bomb will be giggled at both by my son as well as me.