Saturday, June 30, 2007

Marlie The Pooh

I would love to know why my darling, beautiful daughter has a fascination with her own poo. Why is she compelled to stick her hand down her pants and check it out?

I don’t really love this behavior. It’s very unlady-like. I don’t really enjoy cleaning her and her crib up after this happens. Not my favorite thing to do.

She is a pretty regular girl, poo-wise. Very predictable. It happens either when she wakes up in the morning or when she wakes up from her nap. Every day. The frequency at which she decides to personally become acquainted with her poo is about 10% of the time. That may not sound like much, but considering she has a daily poo... that’s one out of every 10 days.

I can smell if she has a dirty diaper when I first walk into her room. The first thing I do when she has a dirty diaper now is smell her hands. Again... not my favorite thing to do. The outcome of the hand-smelling will determine whether a simple diaper change or a bath/crib wipe-down will be necessary. Of course she usually reserves these special occasion poo-checks on days & times when it is least convenient to bathe her. One day I was getting Marlie up from a nap because Marshall just arrived home with a delicious-smelling, hot pizza just in time for our Friday pizza/movie night. Of course that was one of the times she decided to explore the poo. Let’s just say I did not enjoy the hot pizza that night and I gave her a bath while Marshall and the boys watched the movie.

I would love to imagine that this behavior will not go on forever. Will she still do this when she is 2? When she is 3? When she is potty trained? When she leaves for college?

I heard other mothers tell stories about their kids exploring the poo. I secretly thanked my lucky stars that my boys did NOT do disgusting things like that. Must be the superior job of parenting that I did, that kept them from doing that. Well, God smiled on me and gave us Marlie. What is it they say about pride? Pride goes before the poo fall. Right, that’s it.

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