No Poopy Puffy Otter

According to all the conversations I've had, certain things are inevitable once you become a parent. For one, you begin giving cutesy names to things. This would have caused bouts of nausea in you a mere year ago, but now you're embracing it and pushing ahead, full throttle. Note the name of this post as evidence thereof. Second, is the inescapable topic of baby poop. Apparently, the day-to-day workings of Otter's intestines have become the yardstick against which all other events are measured. And so, with a feeling of impotence tinged with shame, I bow before the unavoidable...

Assaulted by a plethora of new food sensations, Otter's digestive system has gone on strike. While her intestines were willing to play ball with rice cereal, carrots and peas, the introduction of bananas was more than they could handle, so they closed up shop, picked up the signs and are walking the picket line for the 4th day now.

It should be noted that the situation was not helped by a certain someone who gave Otter a double portion of both cereal and carrots (neither of which is poopy-friendly) when he used the wrong size bowl over the weekend, while I was at work. Not that I'm placing blame or naming names. Be that as it may, Otter may as well be wearing a "Not A Through Street" sign by her mouth.

Operation Poopy Otter is now in effect. All food groups have been replaced by prunes, which SB is lukewarm about, at best. Cereal is not diluted with the water the prunes were stewed in. Prune juice will be added to the repertoire starting tomorrow. Leg circles and stomach massages have also been incorporated, with little immediate effect.

Through all of this, Otter's remained surprisingly good-natured. She smiles away, seemingly oblivious to her own plight. Perhaps the blithe mood can be attributed to another inevitability: sooner or later, Otter will explode. And then the joke will be on us.