Con-ster-pated

I wasn't going to actually make the poop-post, but since this has been continuing for several days I suppose I will.

Now, I am not the type of person to talk about poop, and it would never have occurred to me to share such things with the interweb were it not for Dooce. And I am not going to talk about any poop I may or may not have. But Jack is a baby and can't realize how much therapy he'll need, so here we go.

Jack is drinking soy formula along with his fresh squeezed boob juice, and soy formula has a couple of interesting side effects. He farts. A lot. And in conjunction with the farting, he tends to get constipated, which for some reason I must pronounce "consterpated". I don't know why. The baby talk is taking over in a scary way. But to return to the poop.

After an incredibly frustrating -for both of us- afternoon a few days ago I called my mom in desperation. There are so many advantages to having a mother who is an RN I actually considered nursing as a career so I could share the advantages with my kids. But I hate things that come out of the body; blood, pus, poop, vomit, pee... all of it is just nasty. So I call my mom the RN on the verge of tears and ask what I can do. And she knew.

Apparently she had a similar experience years ago that caused her to go to the hospital. (It was my sister, not me. I told you I would not talk about my poop.) A kind nurse laughed at my mom's new mother worry and told her to go home and mixed a couple tablespoons of Karo syrup in formula. 30 years later my mother passes it on to me, though I am sure the technique has fallen out of vogue. But it worked, and I would much prefer to do that then give my child a baby laxative.
We are now spared the three hour crying jags while Jack tries to ease his system. Now if only it helped the smell.