So Daphne's going through this phase where she only poops once every few days, but boy, when she does, it's a doozy. I'm told that this is normal and temporary (my coworker Danny knows whereof I speak).
On Thursday evening, Holly put Daphne down in her bouncy chair while we made dinner. And amazingly enough, she sat there happily, apparently very interested in watching her mommy and daddy cook. We finished cooking, sat down, and ate; Daphne gazed on with content all the while.
But when Holly picked Daphne up, she stopped, and spoke a phrase that sent chills down my spine:
"What is on this chair??!?"
Holly dashed Daphne over to the changing table, holding her at arms' length. She left her there, admonishing me to make sure the baby didn't fall off, and dashed back toward the bouncy chair to assess the situation. I, meanwhile, glanced over my tiny daughter, who was looking at me and burbling happily. I wondered why her little onesie looked wet around the area of her waist. I wondered why that wetness looked vaguely green. I wondered why it was creeping slowly north of her belly button.
I must have made some kind of noise, because Holly came running back. I heard her suck a sharp breath between her teeth, and we both stood there for a few seconds, dumbfounded.
We decided that we would have to cut her out of her clothes. There was no way that I was going to move the bottom half of that onesie in the direction of Daphne's head. Holly fetched a pair of scissors, and I cut the onesie through. I peeled it off sideways and gingerly, slowly unstrapped Daphne's diaper.
I think it was the smell that really did me in. The smell is still with me, in my dreams.
When my senses returned, and I regained my higher mental functions, my first thought was, "Dammit, I wish I owned a pair of hip waders."
I'm going to stop here and leave the rest of the details to your imagination; I don't want this website to turn all R-rated. I'll just say this: remember when, two posts ago, I said that Daphne was in the 97th percentile for weight? Well, she's probably not in the 97th percentile anymore. No, I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she was entirely average.
So, now that I've disgusted everybody, I'll reward you with some lovely pictures of Daphne at 8 weeks of age.
