Poop, it's what's for breakfast

We all hear that rumbly in the tumbly at different times of the day, but for our dear son it always seems to be in the morning. God love him, he just has to get it all out to get the day started right.

At first, it was a massive squirt-like explosion that resulted in my whisking him away from whatever piece of furniture he was perched on for fear of leakage. I could hardly get him to the changing table before my robe had fallen victim and had to hit the washing machine. Ahh, those were the days.

Since we've switched from the boob to this...

the consistency of what comes out of his cute little tooshy has changed quite a bit.

You really never know what you're getting after the red-face push. It could look like this...

(except, of course, not this pearly white color...)

Or something like this...

(except not this shiny)

The good thing about Pollard is that he really keeps you guessing. He already knows how to keep us on our toes, and I must admit I do love that about him. I love it so much, I've even contemplated getting him this:

It's strange how your adult conversation falls by the wayside after you have a baby. What once used to be talks about who said what at work, or when Bunco is next week, you are having in-depth late night diatribes about the poo, or lack thereof. Instead of talking about it, we could have invested in one of these...

[and we ain't 'logging' sleep hours if you catch what I'm puttin down]

This way, in an effort to increase once-popular adult conversation, we can simply log the "logs" in this handy book, and refer to it throughout the day.

For now we will stick with what works, and that is communication. After all, if we don't keep up with his poo, who will? That's what parents are for.