An Inconvenient Truth

You must know by now how often my tiny stinker fills his britches. If not: it's 3-7 times per day. There really isn't ever a super convenient time to change his foul little pants, but there are some moments that are worse than others.

A new circumstance rose to the top of my list today:

25 minutes into his eagerly anticipated afternoon nap, which happened to be 7 minutes into my less anticipated Shredding workout. In the end (pun intended) it all worked out (again with the puns). He sat in the corner completely mesmerized and entertained by the Fat Mommy Show.

It's times like these that I remind myself that I once rejoiced over poop...

I would have given anything for him to be able to fill a diaper instead of an ostomy bag...

When polishing his little bum with a wet wipe would have been a welcome alternative...

When we had to weigh and measure his poop instead of just tossing it into the garbage...

When pooping meant I had an excuse to give him a bath and change his clothes: my most favorite-est treat in the world...

When changing his "diaper" required 30 minutes, 2 nurses, and a tube of adhesive. And the incompetence of a few nurses in taking care of his stoma got us transferred back to Primary's at the surgeon's request...

When his poopies made me cry with relief and gratitude...

When we just couldn't get him to go...

When our entire life revolved around the contents of his diaper and I had to raise hell over the status of his bowel movements...

When poop kept us trapped in Alcatraz (Primary's)...

When functioning bowels made me weak in the knees with gratitude.

Hey.... what's that smell?