Because all babies have poo stories, right? I want to write these down before I forget them.
So the day that Ruby was born, we were laying on the bed at the birth center. If you keep babies on your chest, skin to skin with a blanket or two on top, they keep warm very well. So I’d had her on my chest, skin to skin, but I needed to get up for a minute, so I passed her off to Kyle. He took his shirt off and laid her on his chest. She had pretty much just been born, and we hadn’t put a diaper on her yet. When I got back, I reached to pick her back up, and as I lifted up the blankets, we found that Ruby had left a tarry little black present on Kyle’s chest.
I laughed at him and told him to go clean up. I held Ruby for longer, and after a little while Kyle wanted to hold her again, so I placed her back on his chest. I ate lunch at this point, and the two of them fell asleep and took a brief nap. When Kyle awoke, he also wanted to eat lunch, but as I lifted Ruby and the blankets again, we discovered that she had left a massive tarry present on Kyle’s chest.
As in, so massive that Kyle had to take a shower to get it off of him, and it ended up taking two people ten minutes to get Ruby all the way cleaned up from the experience. It turns out that meconium poo is sticky and hard to clean. (I actually wouldn’t know, Kyle ended up changing all of her meconium diapers, bless him. I’ve only picked up since they transitioned into breastmilk diapers.)
I told Kyle that between me pushing a human into the world and him getting dumped on that we’d had a pretty good introduction to parenthood.
After that experience, we put a diaper on her. As my OB said, “At least we know her bumhole works.” That’s encouraging.