Ellie, when she’s in a good mood, is on the move. Not rolling yet, but she stretches and flails while she talks and makes faces. It’s the cutest thing ever.

But – and I promised I would never become one of those bloggers who goes there and here I am well on my way – the kind of movement we really want from her? It’s just not happening.

As you can imagine, a constipated baby is not a pleasant person to be around. There is much weeping and gnashing of teeth – or gums, in her case – all around. It is just a smidge frustrating.

It is also a little exhillerating. I am not a person who likes suspense. Anticipation? Sure, sign me up. But nail biting suspense found in cliff hanger movies or feats of daring? I’ll pass, thank you. I prefer my movies to be predictable and my entertainment to be calm and sedating. There’s nothing wrong with that. However, the suspense created by Ellie’s bowels is one of the most exciting things in my life currently.

Please don’t judge.

At any rate, it’s a little like placing a high stakes bet. Not that I would know, mind you, but I imagine it to be similar. Some days I play it safe, dressing her in old clothes or “gender neutral” outfits. Other days I play the odds and get her all dolled up, knowing that if that is the day she chooses to play, I will have to pay up with lots of Oxiclean, Shout, soaking and washing, washing, washing. Add to this that I am not a good gambler. It takes math skills I never had or acquired so I feel reckless and wild – an inebriated bachelor at the craps table, if you will.

Craps table.



Maybe if I got a little more sleep, I’d have some more energy to find more exciting things to write about. I’ll get on that right away.