Today I found myself in a unique situation.
We were in the kitchen and I had a dishcloth over my mouth to guard against fumes.
Jacob had a pair of chopsticks or barbecue skeweresque chop sticks, and a diaper spread out on a piece of tin foil.
I mean, this alone is a really weird scenario right?
But that wasn't the weird thing. Seriously. It wasn't.
The weird thing is that while he delicately "investigated" with his rubber glove clad hands, I excitedly and impatiently peered over his shoulder trying not to gag. I mean, I am pregnant and all right?
You see, for the past 72 hours we have been watching Claire like a hawk. Purposefully feeding her diarrhea inducing foods and clapping like maniacs whenever she toots.
We'd basically become hypochondriac pessimists noting a million signs that there was "indeed a problem."
When she squatted for her toy and let out a little old man grunt Jacob worriedly pointed out, "See... she's so distended that she can't bend over any more..."
He then lifted her shirt to show her toddler pot belly and said, "Just look at how huge her belly is!"
I argued that really, her belly is always pretty big and really she looks like she's lengthened out in the last month.
And when she threw a fit after our long road trip, with red rimmed little eyes we convinced ourselves that it was because of an intestinal blockage or worse yet that she had an esophagal blockage and THAT just simply MUST explain why she didn't eat her vegetables last night. Clearly.
Only a few nights before in a hotel room, I stepped into the shower and left Claire pushing her stroller around and talking to her "baby" and Jacob reading a book. When I came back we were missing an earplug.
We didn't worry much until she wouldn't sleep and then we began to panic. We called the doctor's office where they told us it was really no big deal but she needed to "pass it" in the next 5 days or she needed to go to the ER.
No big deal. Just the Emergency Room.
Which led us into this whole toot-cheering, hypochondriac-like mess we'd gotten ourselves into as we stood over an open disgusting diaper in our very own kitchen.
And before we knew it Jacob leaned back like a satisfied surgeon with something squished between the chop sticks and sighed the biggest sigh of relief you ever have heard.
"There it is!" he said triumphantly.
And I quite literally squealed and did a little dance.
There, in his pincers, was a slightly recognizable blue earplug.
Never, ever, ever, ever, (except for maybe that time I had to have surgery and couldn't go home until I tooted to show everything was "working again") had we been so excited to see poop.
And that's the truth y'all!