Duty I can live without

There's a phenomenon which is occuring at my house that I'm beginning to find a little disturbing. Mom is the Poop Inspector.

When Deanna was an infant, we thought she had a blockage. She had great difficulty producing anything and we quite often had to use glycerin suppositories for her. Don would call routinely from work to see if a messy diaper had been produced. We were very focused on excretions.

Once, I told him I thought we should try giving Deanna some prune juice in a bottle. He picked some up at the grocery store and, while I was gone the next morning, decided to give it to her. He fed her bottle after bottle of straight prune juice. When I got home, I commented that I needed to start the prune juice.

"I already took care of it," Don stated proudly.

"What do you mean you 'took care of it'?" I asked.

"I already gave her the prune juice," he smiled, quite pleased with himself.

"How much did you cut it?" I asked.

"Cut it with what?" Don looked quizzically at me.

"Water, honey. You cut it half and half with water. You didn't give her full strength prune juice, did you?" I began getting worried. Don snickered.

Turns out, not only had he given it to her full strength, it was so sweet, she had sucked it right down, so he had followed with bottle after bottle. The jug of prune juice was almost empty. My eyes widened as the story unfolded. Don got more and more concerned as I got quieter and my eyes got bigger. He soon learned why you cut prune juice with water in infants.

If we were wanting stinky diapers, we got 'em - lots and lots of 'em. Deanna went for about 4 days before her system finally got down to normal. Don and I laugh about it now. He learned a valuable lesson - the hard way.

Earlier this summer, I was talking with a friend on the back deck when Dane ran up and began to cry. I got him in the house where he burst into tears and told me his head was killing him and he felt like he was going to throw up. I decided he was overheated. Don got him a glass of ice water and I ran him a cool bath. Before jumping in the tub, he tinkled. I was standing next to him and noticed that his urine looked bloody. I put him in the tub, then called Don. In the end, we pumped enough fluids in him to get him to tinkle again for us in a jar. Don and Uncle Ken decided it didn't look bloody, just concentrated.

Later that evening, I got called to the half-bath. Dane had produced another job, and Don thought I needed to look it over.

It seems that anytime the children have a bowel movement that is loose or a funny color (we've noticed that when we eat foods that have green food coloring - like green eggs and green milk on St. Patrick's Day - they have very green stools for a few days) or has anything else unusual about it, which is practically daily, I have to look at it. I'm constantly being called to commodes to inspect excretions.

On Monday, Daelyn called me into his room to look at a present Donovan had left. Donovan rarely goes potty indoors, but Don told me Sunday night that he had diarhea and he had left one little turd behind on the boy's floor. I did the plastic bag trick, turning it inside out and grabbing the offending item. It appeared to be covered in blood, so I scooped up the dog and the kids and headed for the vet.

Turns out, Donovan's stool was full of interesting things - red crayon, hard orange plastic, lots of plant material, and tons of other stuff, but no blood. The vet cautioned the children that we should not allow Donovan to eat anymore blue Cavalrymen or green Army men. He put Donovan on a stomach coat, an animal version of Kaopectate, and told us to withhold treats for a day or so. He told me I would need to carefully watch Donovan's stools to make sure he passed all the junk. Ah, me. Once again, it's my job to inspect the stools.

Last night, one of the children called to me, "Mama, I left something in the half-bath potty for you to look at." I rolled my eyes and glanced at Don.

"This is getting a little out of hand. I don't have to look at every bowel movement produced by a family member. Would you please go look and make sure everything's okay?" I pleaded.

"Nope. Sorry. It's a Mommy-thing."

I seriously doubt most Mommies have to inspect all excretions. Our family is way too obsessed with this. It's time for our children to realize that stinkies can look different each day based on what you've eaten and how your stomach handles it.

Last night, Donovan had an accident in Deanna's bedroom, a result, I believe, of the stomach coat. She decided to respond by moving out of her bedroom for the night. I sent her to clean it up instead. She returned to the kitchen gagging and said she just couldn't handled it. Don grinned and said, "See. Moomy-thing."

I'm doomed. I can see it already. I might as well just get used to potty inspections. It's not bad enough I have to inspect the children's jobbies and the dog's jobbies. I draw the line at neighbors and friends. Don't even ask.