When you’re younger and playing with dolls and pretending they are your baby, there are a certain few actions which are considered normal doll play. Generally baby will cry, baby gets fed, baby gets nappy changed, baby sleeps. Of late, some dolls are built to encourage breastfeeding, grand so. Baby might be sick and need to see doctor so off Dolly trots with Mammy to another child with a plastic stethoscope to be told baby has a cold/chickenpox/the plague, to give it Calpol and it’s grand (see, realism about our health system from the age of four).
While baby doll does indeed get nappy change, that is where the focus on the contents finish. Oh, how I wish the same was true of real parenting.
I have never spoken about poo more in my life than I have in the last fifteen months. Think of the amount a pre-adolescent boy talks about poo and farts. That is minuscule to the amount of conversation a new parent can wrangle out of examining poo. Nobody tells you just how unglamorous it is – believe me, if anyone had mentioned this and the amount of time we’d spend in our GP’s office, I may have opted for celibacy out of safety. And ignored that stork (ahem, hi Mammy).
This week, I was told I should start a poo diary for my fifteen month old. For each bowel movement he has, I have to take a note. This is rather feeling like a science experiment from school that I really don’t want to do, but such are the joys of parenthood.
The boy wonder has had stomach issues for a while now. Deep pain, lots of screaming and general horror ensues every time his bowels move. We’ve tried cutting out dairy; upping his hydration, oranges, kiwis, lots of fibre and other remedies besides. It’s been going on a while now, with some mild relief in between, and frankly I’m getting rather sick of not being able to take my boy’s pain away. The teething is bad enough; I know every child goes through that, but this is something else. So poo diary it is, until we work out what the big bad wolf is.
First step is probiotics, to start taking them religiously. Going on how some people, including my lovely GP, rave about them I somewhat feel terrible for not having him on these religiously from Day One, especially since he’s been a bit of a walking pharmaceutical disaster over the last six months – people say creche is good for growing the immune system, his seems to be slow on the uptake.
We don’t know whats causing it. Hoping blood tests will let us know – those are next week and I’m trying not to think about the fact that blood tests mean needles and needles mean an upset little man. That said, we’ve already got one of those, so at least this bit of pain may lead to less pain in the future. It could literally be anything – as this song, which is now stuck in my head, attests…
Fingers crossed it’s a painless process. Fingers crossed it’s nothing. Fingers crossed I’m a hypochondriac first time mother, which is what some medical professionals have made me feel like. He’s my baby, the absolute love of my life, I’m not good with standing by and doing nothing and “seeing what happens” when he’s writhing in pain and I can’t help him. It’s a load of shit, quite frankly, to be told to “wait and see”, so I’m glad that my GP has agreed to progress with tests to ensure that I am that overanxious mother and that my own gut (which could probably do with a probiotic or two) is wrong.
Lifestyle bloggers writing about swish parties and gorgeous clothes, away with you. I’ve got a diary of ickiness of high proportions to be keeping…
If you’re still reading after my tales of poo and not so nice things; you might like to see a cute video and some nicer things – My Little Loves of the week contains all of the above and you should check it out here.
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