Nature called and then wouldn't hang the eff up.

Dads blogging about their babies’ poops is as natural as babies pooping. In both cases, of course, shit happens.

Addie stayed home with me today because, despite a healthy diet of fiber-ridden, doodie-inducing juices, fruits and veggies, she’s been a little backed up. For like... a few days.

About 8am this morning, did anyone else feel the shock-wave? The nearby houses melted and blew away, like in those movies where they test atomic bombs, so I assume most of you as far away as the suburbs at least saw the poop-tinted mushroom cloud.

Subsequently, here’s the text message conversation I had with Lisa, who was at work:
Me: POOPSPLOSION!
Lisa: YAYAYAYAY! Is she feeling better?
Me: Like a cute little baby pig in poop. She was singing “I Can See Clearly Now” when I found her.
Lisa: Oh thank God. I was so worried.

Yet another TMed conversation at about 11am:
Me: POOPVALANCH!
Lisa: Whoa. Again? Really?
Me: Yeah, another healthy one. The color of evil, the consistency of sin, but the demons have been expelled.
Lisa: Have fun with that, Mr. Mom. Sucker.

And lastly, at 3pm:
Me: POOPNAMI!
Lisa: Is that supposed to be like a tsunami? You’re a better parent than you are a scatological punster.
Me: What can I say? It’s my duty.