Drilling for oil

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The last few days and this weekend in particular have been very difficult for Thomas and us. The little guy seems to be crying constantly and does not get much sleep during the day. Nights are okayish, but we are all pretty exhausted. It’s pretty clear that Thomas has colics as bad as Oskar did at the same age and there is really nothing we can do about it but power through.

Tonight it was my turn to take care of his evening routine, which means giving him the bath, feeding him afterwards and then rock him to sleep.

So I took the poor, crying bundle and put him on the changing table to undress him, check the diaper and clean. It turned out the diaper was virtually empty. No poop and as good as no pee. Well, okay then. Before taking him to the bath, I thought it a good idea to measure his temperature. Who know? – maybe he’s crying so bad because he has a fever or something.

When taking temperatures, we always measure rectally – because that’s how you do it. No disrespect to the ear, forehead and armpit (hi, mom!) crowd – but you’re doing it wrong!
Anyway: so I had Thomas in front of me.
He’s on his back, head on the far side, butt facing me.
I took the thermometer out of its plastic casing and then carefully placed it for measurement.

You could also say I shove it up his ass. But that would be kinda vulgar, of course.

Up the thermometer went and the little gadget was eagerly counting Celsius. And then it happened.

Now for a quick digression: picture the process of drilling for oil. The drill works itself into the depth of the rock until it hits an oil bubble. These bubbles tend to be under high pressure, so the black gold is shooting out through the path the drill has created. The classic picture is a fountain that splashes oil uncontrolled above ground and some mad sucker is dancing happily in the black rain.

Back to Thomas, the changing table and me… in fact, targeted by what felt like such a fountain (of different making).

I don’t know what it was, but maybe the thermometer led to an imbalance of the sensitive equilibrium that is the digestive system of a newborn. Maybe it would have happened anyway. But once the thermometer was in, the next thing I knew was that all of a sudden liquid, mustard-colored goo shot out of the butt of my youngest son as if it was coming from a water gun. It splashed all over the changing table, the wall, the floor… and the unsuspecting father, mind you. It might surprise you, but this sucker did not dance happily.

There was gooey poop everywhere and I felt like in a Laurel and Hardy movie.

Leo: ‘ little help?!

It took a while until Lamia picked up my cries for help and emotional support.
Buah! – what a mess! The immediate moment after the fountain was exhausted, however, Thomas was relieved and became very quiet, happy even. No crying, no hitting aimlessly around himself. He played nice in the bath and he also went to sleep very quickly.

So yes, it looks like this had to come out.
I only wished Thomas had not aimed at me that very moment…

Edit October 26:
Thomas was obviously exhausted from the stressful and painful weekend.. he slept 8 hours straight tonight!

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