Fragment #1

It's been a blogtastic couple of days, so I will break it into little chunks. Hopefully, I will give these little views their due.

But first, let's paint a picture in your mind of the writer, and what the world around me is. First, rain. More flooding, but we're undamaged. It does leave Miss Neverpoop and I stranded a little more, as it isn't safe to drive these streets during the flash flooding. Then, the lack of poop. It has been more than a week, which means it was time for another dose of suppository glycerine.

Please tell me why my daughter holds in her poop until it hurts her. Please? After giving her the medicine, she looked at me and said, "Daddy, you weren't very careful with my body. You gave me an owie on my poopy hole. You need to be more careful with me." I am an awful, wretched creature.

She still is holding it in, but she and Dr. Wife have drifted off to sleep in a little cuddled mass in bed. Thanks to the glycerine, it will only be a matter of time before she unplugs, and her body mass drops by half.

So I am listening to the rain bursts roll through, watching some mindless TV, drinking bourbon and trying to forget that I hurt my little girl tonight. I know, following doctor's orders and all. But damn, her little face cuddling up to me, wondering why we had to do that...

In the next installment, I will tell you about Sammy's first movie at a theatre last week, and her opinion of Ratatouille.

And I would do anything for love...

I thought I knew what I was getting into with this fatherhood gig. I expected the sleepless nights. I anticipated losing the roles of man, husband, individual, in favor of the bigger title of Daddy. But I never anticipated having to lubricate a little girl's anus so that she could drop a turd.

Before you call SRS, hear me out. She hadn't crapped in two weeks. I have been giving her laxatives for the last five days, hoping for a less invasive solution. I have upped the fruit quantity through the roof, and she eats a cup of shredded wheat on the way to school every morning.

But today, despite the best efforts of a reassuring and loving Daddy, it had to be done. She didn't eat all day, and refused to play in favor of sitting on the floor trying to shove the poo back up into her body by sheer force of toddler will. So at the advice of the local nurse practitioner (read: saint), I bought a small bulb of glycerin suppository complete with narrow tube.

She trusted me, the deed was done, and after a few moments of futile angry struggle in which our tiny-fisted soldier knew the gates were opened, the beast was released.

I will spare those of you with weak stomachs, or the ability to do math well enough to know that no 27 pound child should have their weight cut in half in a few traumatic moments. Suffice it to say she still put up a valiant struggle.

She sleeps now, our soldier against defecation. Her belly newly filled with apologetic ice-cream with sprinkles. She lost this round, but I promise she is happier for it.

Another night...

Last night's tantrum fest was hellacious. Two hours of whining and screaming pixie of evil, followed by 3 minutes of exploding, door-slapping daddy. It was not one of our high points. If that weren't bad enough, she picked up where she left off for the hour and a half I see her conscious before preschool. At least I'm not alone in this behavior. We did finish the evening with "I love you's" and "I'm sorry's". Both of us.

Thankfully, much planning, preparation, and scheming on the part of Love-and-Logic daddy, as well as an extra reading of Green Eggs and Ham, maneuvered us into a scream-free night of sleeping daughter.

Now, to quickly clean for the realtor's open house tomorrow.

Oh, did I mention I gave the girl some laxatives before putting her to sleep tonight? You see, she's afraid to poop. After 10 days of no poop, I am afraid. Very afraid.