You Nasty

I have cleaned up befouled riverbanks. I have mud-wrestled. I have dissected cats, sharks, and pigs. I have handled human remains. I have had nasty bouts of food poisoning. I have seen, and cleaned up after, dogs with hemorrhagic gastroenteritis. I have given enemas to cats. I have performed laminectomies on rats, and sliced the brains of mouse pups in slices measured in microns.

Heck, I've even seen old men naked in the Bally's lockerroom.

But by far the most digusting, odious thing I have ever seen is my daughter's shit.

I swear to God, it's like she's defecating latex paint. That stuff is a very weird yellowish brown color, it's thick, it's sticky, and it gets everywhere. And on a girl, "everywhere" is a much more complex geography than with a boy. Indoor plumbing versus outdoor, you know?

And the sound she makes when she excretes is this horrible, ominous wet rumble. If you've ever been around a baby, you know when the kid has taken a dump. I hear it, and there's this sinking feeling, like the bottom has dropped out from under me (har-dee-har-har).

You know, honestly, I can't wait for solid food. At least then I'll be in familiar territory, poopwise. Until then....gargh.

It's ALIVE! And ASLEEP!"

So, Kirsten and I, more Kirsten than I, have been wondering how best to keep the baby asleep when she was, you know, awake. We tried a lot of things - nursing, soothing, shushing, nursing, cooing, nursing, blankets, nursing - but nothing worked. All we've gotten so far is a baby who spits up a lot and a wife with sore boobs.

And, let me assure you, neither of those things has been to my benefit.

So today, in a low point, Kirsten broke down and agreed to something she'd been fighting strenuously for the past four weeks: a pacifier.

For Lorelei's benefit, we're calling it a binky - not, by the way, out of any respect towards Binky the Clown, but because that's apparently a fairly common term for the thing.

Anyway, IT WORKS. That's the most important thing - call that jabber what you will, but the baby sucks on it, and she doesn't cry. And, I assure you, nobody likes a crying baby.

On an unrelated note, why is it that a cup of coffee in reality is 8 ounces, but a cup of coffee in a coffeemaker is six ounces?