Pop!

My poor little one. Isabella, twenty-three days old and working through figuring out her own body. Yesterday, she didn't poop all day. Last night, the little bean grunted and groaned through out the night.

My wife, who is breastfeeding, has been pulling marathons with her; so I can sleep since I am going to work. Tired as she is, my wife valiantly nurtures our daughter cooing her to sleep and nursing her often.

This morning, I found my wife sitting in bed, cradling Isabella on a Boppy pillow, who was nursing. Later, before I left for work, I checked on them and found my wife resting with our daughter beside her. As if she were passing a rock, little "bella" rocked from side to side in her infantile way; fist clenching and unclenching as she grunted past her discomfort.

"I think I'm going to take her in to get checked, today" my wife stated.

"Ok" I replied.

Later my wife called me at work. My wife had called a pediatric nurse who suggested that Isabella probably just hasn't figured out how to use her muscles to poop yet; and that we might need to help her out.

Help her out?

This entails using a thermometer to encourage her rectally. Ugh.

"How'd it go?" I asked my giggling wife.

"Oh fine." she replied, pausing.

"Really?"

"It was like popping a balloon" she began laughing.

Sheets, the wall...my wife. Imagery aside, one thought came true for me.

It wasn't me.

Yet.

Here she is!

My wife and I recently had our second daughter. She was born on May 5th, 2009 at 5:04pm. She weighed 6.10 ounces and was 20 inches long.

She is interesting (besides the obvious - she's CUTE!) in that her birth was around 9 hours, as opposed to 54 hours for my first daughter. After the active labor, and she began pushing, it took only 3 pushes and my daughter was out.

She has dark hair, as opposed to my first daughter who is blond and very intelligent.