I Learned a New Word

This morning sucked.

Mommy and Daddy went out with some of his childhood friends. I was left at home to spent another amazing evening with Grandma and Grandpa. However, because Grandma's boobs don't produce breastmilk (unfortunately, I didn't ask about Grandpa's boobs), I had some formula. This isn't new. Mommy supplements her breastfeeding with it, and I'm a fan.

But the problem with formula is that there's something with breastmilk that makes you regular, although I've never had a problem with that.

Until this morning.

You see, I pushed and pushed and pushed all day and all night and nothing came out. At 4:37 in the morning, I'd had enough, and if I were gonna stay up frustrated, I was gonna take Mommy and Daddy down with me.

At 6:29 AM, I finally let them and their ears off the hook.

This is what I learned when I woke up again: There's this thing called constipation, and that is the inability to poop. And if you've been reading this blog, you'll know that constipation isn't something I look forward to.

But it happens to the best of us.

And when it does, it gets the best of us.

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

At 10:42 AM, I finally had an explosion, one that went up my back, towards my neck and reaching my socks.

It was both disgusting and glorious, like it was all backed up and just waiting to pop out. I felt like I lost seven pounds in one push. I felt like the cork being popped out of Mommy's daily 5 PM bottle of wine. I felt like floating away on a cloud. I felt like I was able to sit again. I felt like showing off all zero of my teeth for an entire day.

And when I saw Grandpa look away with disgust at what I'd done, I knew I'd done good.