Friday, 13 September 2013

scatalogically yours, in the world of poo

Ever wondered what every single new parent is obsessed with? Input and output. And with the output, often more than the input.

The problem is that while milk comes in one standard colour and texture (it's white and wet) baby poop has these crazy variations ranging all the way from "yellow with seed-like bits" to red, black, "explosive green" and white! And you can wipe that horrified expression off your face right now - you did know what scatological meant when you started reading this post, didn't you?

The downside of being the internet generation is that we are the internet generation and think that search engines provide the answer to everything from relationship troubles to haleem recipe hunts. So it was with poo.

I actually found this great poo gallery which I've looked up a number of times, particularly after a memorable week when K was latched on 24/7 and shooting nasty green squirters across half the room when she wasn't nappied. The only way I survived it was betting with myself on how far it could actually go. It turned out the cause was oversupply which is something my mum, MIL and grandmum had never heard of.

I tried pointing out gently that the "humaarey time par toh yeh sab nahi hota thha" (none of this happened in our generation) argument didn't quite cut the ice in this case. This is one argument I won since it turned out that she didn't have a cold or infection like the mothers insisted.

In the meantime, Paranoid Papa made us do rounds of the doc. In his enthusiasm, he clicked photos and insisted on carrying a soiled nappy to the doc. I quietly "forgot" the nappy and smugly informed the doctor that he had me to thank for it. The pathetic look of gratitude on his face was indescribable, especially after PP had shoved the photo under his nose. (He has a damn neat Nokia Lumia 925 and it takes absolutely brilliant photos - unfortunately in this case)

PP then proceeded to enlarge the photo, "See this bit here, should that be there? And that slimy bit there?" ignoring the hunted expression on the doctor's face as he gingerly tried to edge away from the phone while trying to make encouraging, soothing noises.

He was too polite to shriek, but he did sanitise his hands with what I felt was unnecessary vigour. "She's absolutely fine. And you know, I really think she's growing out of my care - I am after all, a neo-natologist and..." We both fixed our four-eyed stares at him and he subsided weakly. "That is, of course I'd be glad to see her but you really don't need to bring soiled nappies to me. An SMS will work just fine."

And you know what? It really does. I always get a prompt response from the doc. And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the unsaid threat of poo.

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