So I mentioned it in my tribute to that sexy ass nation in the red, white, and blue. My son pooped!!!! And why does that matter? Because his smelly ass was a biohazard.
Let me preface this by saying that my son had not pooped in over a week. Do you have any idea how awful that is? When that happens to real people (adults), we go to a doctor, take a laxative, and pray we don't literally blow up the toilet. When it happens to a baby, you just sit and deal with his whiny ass. The problem though, beyond his discomfort, was my son had awful flatulence.
Now keep in mind, that is coming from someone who literally secured a place in hell by hot-boxing an airplane with his protein farts. This kid's gas was as bad, if not worse. Every day, and every night, it was the same. My son would dig his head into my chest. Then I'd hear a "brrrrrr....fap-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop", followed by my son grunting a relieved, "...uhn...". At one point, it was so bad that my wife grabbed my head, hooked my eyes, and shoved my face into his diaper. All she kept telling was, "SMELL IT! SUFFER! SUFFER WITH ME!!"
And I did suffer. His ass should have been studied by the CDC for bioweapon capabilities. If you want to know how to end the war, bottle his farts and drop them on the enemy. Of course, the U.N. would then put sanctions on my son for war crimes. It wouldn't do much good, mind you. He'd just fart and kill the U.N.
For all the backup, he didn't have a significant poo. In fact, it wasn't even a full diaper. As it turns out, that was just the plug coming loose. The true bowel movement came in the following morning. I was at work, talking to my wife, when she got quiet. I asked if she was okay, and she said, "....He just pooped...." I asked if it was bad and she just said, "....Yeah...."
She then proceeded to start changing him and her first response was, "Fuck. What's wrong with you, baby?!" My wife then sent me a picture and said that I'd be in trouble when I got home. I'm guessing I didn't fully mute the phone, as I giggled over being at work and avoiding the mega-poo. Sure enough, I got home and had quite a bit of housework to catch up on.
Moral of the Story: My son pooped and I didn't have to clean it. Also, I never realized I would be so invested in bowel movements.
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