“I fart,” he says, and we shuffle him over to the potty.

While on the potty, Henry, like most males of our species, enjoys a book or magazine. (My mother got him a subscription to a kids’ animal magazine, and he likes looking at that. I’m trying to teach him how to tuck it under his arm on the walk over.)

Well, on Wednesday, as I was getting ready to put him to bed (Kristen was taking a well-deserved night off and was having dinner with friends), Henry said, “I fart.”

Now he usually isn’t a late-evening pooper. He’ll go in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon (right after his second nap — did you know he still takes two naps? ugh), but rarely at night. But he said he had to go, so I took off his pajama bottoms, took off his diaper, and he plopped down on the potty.

“Book!” he yelled. “Shovel!” (Which is what he says when he wants to read Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel.) So I get it for him and we start to read it. We go through the whole book (it’s not short), and I’ve noticed that he a) hasn’t urinated, b) hasn’t passed gas, or c) hasn’t pooped.

I was duped! I was poop duped!

Henry didn’t have to go to the bathroom! He just wanted to read! So I picked him up and put his diaper and pajamas back on (oh, he was not happy about any of it), and I rocked him and sang to him and put him to bed.

At first, I was a little annoyed. How dare he use his pooping to stay up and read! But then I realized that it was sort of ingenious of him — he’s learning to get his way. And thankfully, he’s not doing it with temper tantrums. I’d much rather be tricked into reading him another book that way than by having him on the ground kicking and screaming. Although I suspect that’s coming up soon, too.

There were a lot of naps and bottles and diaper changes and book readings, but in between, he pretty much just… sat there and giggled.

Does it make me a bad person that, looking back, it was a little boring?

Because this December, as I spent a lot of time home (both on vacation and bed-ridden with the flu), it was so much different, so much more fun. Henry as a toddler is fun all the time. ALL THE TIME.

While there are still plenty of naps (he still takes two, 2-hour snoozes) and a diaper change here or there, now we play and run and laugh and eat things with forks and spoons instead of bottles.

The only problem that we’ve had is that as Henry has begun experimenting with new foods (Mexican, Chinese, garlic-filled mashed potatoes), he’s been having some — how do I say it nicely — gastrointestinal issues. Every time he eats something with a little spice or a little kick, it comes back to haunt him (and me) later on. Many, many times.

I’m sure you’re all saying, “Well, don’t let him eat this stuff!” and that may be all well and good. But as Kristen mentioned earlier, when Henry spends most of the day walking around saying “eat, eat, eat”, you have to fill up his stomach with something.

And as we know, the more often you fill something up, the more often it has to empty.

But hopefully as he matures in all those exciting ways (like saying more words and running faster and trying to climb up onto anything and everything), his stomach will also begin to mature. Soon. Please.

Yes, there was turkey and filling and creamed spinach (which, while appealing not in the least to me, is a big hit for everyone else).

There was family (Kristen’s brother and his girlfriend flew in from Brooklyn).

And there was Super-nanny Silvia (because what’s a Romanian girl to do on Thanksgiving day?).

But most of all, there were bowel movements.

I’ll get to that later. Instead, let’s start with all the fun things.

Jay (Kristen’s brother) and Andrea (his lady friend or his special lady — I’m not sure which) flew in on Wednesday, and we all spent several days hanging out, eating a lot (not only the great Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, but a fun trip to a German restaurant — with band — on Friday and a mussels and pasta meal on Wednesday prepared by Kristen and Andrea), and playing with Henry. It was good to see them, and they begged and pleaded with us to move back east. Yes, it wasn’t pretty, but Jay actually dropped to his knees.

We’ll see.

We also headed out shopping on Friday afternoon, wandering the streets of Chicago (no malls, thank you very much), and they stayed up late watching our taped episodes of Ugly Betty.

Yes, yes. All very fun and exciting, but not what you’re really interested in, is it? It’s not what you came here to read.

You came here for the poop.

As you’re all aware, we’ve started to potty train Henry. I know it’s early and all, but he’s been watching Vivi (his older girlfriend) go on the plastic throne for months, and Silvia, Kristen, and I decided that he should try to. So for the past month, before and after every nap, we’ve put Henry on the potty and, without fail, he’s done the deed.

On Thanksgiving night, right after we stopped in at our downstairs neighbor’s for a bit, Kristen and I were getting Henry ready for bed and we plopped him on the potty for one last… go. As usual, he went. But this time… THIS TIME… it wasn’t just urine that found its way into the receptacle. It was also a nice, big turd.

That’s right. Poop. In the potty.

And we all applauded.

Everyone around heard about this momentous occasion. I tried to get Mayor Daley to give Henry a key to the city, but I haven’t yet heard back from his people.

Now this one instance of bowel movement mastery may be considered a fluke, and I can see some of you, my dear readers, shaking your head in disbelief.

Well, once may be a fluke. But twice makes for a trend.

You see, on Saturday morning, as I let Kristen sleep in, I was up playing with Henry. It was time for him to go down for his first nap of the day, so I put him on the potty. He went (it was a lot, too; not that has any bearing on the story), and I told him to get up lest he stick his hand in the filthiness (which he’s done a few times).

“No,” he said. (No is now his favorite word.) “Book.”

So I gave him a book. He “read” it for a while, rubbed his face (a sure sign he’s ready for a nap), and I told him again that it’s time to get up and get a new diaper on.

“No,” he repeated himself. “Poop.”

“No, Henry. You didn’t poop. You just peed. Poop is…”

…going into the potty.

Again! He pooped again! And he told me he was going to do this! Why am I so excited!? Why am I using so many exclamation points!?

Because, along with being really cute and wonderfully lovable, my son is also a master of #1 and #2, that’s why!

He hasn’t pooped again (although he tried — and struggled a bit — Sunday evening), but it will happen again soon. I’ll keep everyone abreast of any new poop developments.

(I’m a sad and pathetic man, aren’t I?)

Update (12/1/09): He pooped again in the potty this morning. It was, according to his uncle Jay (who is back in New York but knows a thing or two about a thing or two), 1.8 pounds. Gigantic.

Anyway, on with this vacation edition of What We’ve Learned.

We learned that Henry has made some developmental leaps in the past week or so. Now in addition to spilling or dumping toys OUT of things, he is interested in putting those toys back IN. So instead of just dumping all the blocks out of his shape sorter, now he is trying to figure out how to get them back in. And instead of just pulling all the rings off the stacker, now he’s putting them back on. Very cool.

Henry also recently came to the realization that those things that we spill on the tray of his high chair (intentionally or not) are actually food, and not just some other random object for him to roll around in his mouth and probe with his tongue. Suddenly he understands that there is this category of stuff that is edible as opposed to just sand and paper towels and flip flops and other miscellaneous crap. And piggybacked onto that understanding is this idea that, hey, I can feed myself. Every now and then I catch Henry tasting things and putting actual food in his mouth with the intention of eating it. It’s a new day.

Things that are not jarred pureed baby food that Henry will eat:
1.  black beans picked out of a Chipotle burrito
2.  ice cream, any flavor
3.  homemade blueberry buckle
4.  baby teething biscuits
5.  the sweet and sour sticky rice that came with my monkfish tonight

We learned that Henry will now play peek-a-boo with wanton abandon. It used to be that Raphe or I initiated peek-a-boo and did all the peeking. Now Henry will pull a blanket or a shirt or whatever over his face and raise and lower it to do the peeking himself. He cracks himself up doing it. It’s adorable.

We learned that jumping on the bed is some kind of primal urge. Obviously, Henry can’t jump yet, but he sure does love bouncing, and he realized that bouncing on the bed is loads of fun. Raphe or I will do the actual bouncing, and Henry mimics the movements we make. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s the one doing the bouncing. Little does he know.

We learned that traveling with Henry is still (almost) easy as pie. You might recall that we took him to Florida earlier this year for his first airplane trip, and that it was a raging success. Well, this trip was largely the same. No tears or fussing on the plane, although he melted down in the car on the way up to Kennebunkport when we got stuck in traffic about a half-hour away from our destination. However, I’m going to chalk that up to being crammed into an airplane seat/clamped into a car seat for too many hours of the day, and not to him being a poor traveler.

Henry’s also very easygoing at restaurants. As long as we take him well before bedtime (we’re the only earlybirds under 65 these days), he’ll sit at the dinner table with us (in his little portable highchair), eat some yogurt, some jarred food, and some of whatever we’re having that’s non-allergenic and that we can easily chop down small enough. And, of course, he’ll smile his face off and wave to anyone who will give him the time of day. Yeah, it’s fun to take him out.

The last thing we learned this week was really just a reinforcement of something we’ve known all along: Henry is truly the Best Baby Ever. We’re so lucky we get to spend our lives with him.

And now for some vacation photos!

Henry loved playing in the red Step2 car with Jodi at Magic Beans in Brookline! Raphe hopes this big hunk of plastic doesn’t end up in our home, but realizes that is probably futile!

We had fun rolling around in the grass on the resort’s lawn. Henry ate some leaves and flowers and gnawed on the camera case.

Henry thoroughly enjoyed his first trip to the ocean. He ate plenty of sand, of course.

We ate at The Clam Shack twice. Their fried clams are stupid good.

The dinner special at Nunan’s Lobster Hut was two 1 1/8lb lobsters for $24.95. Dinner included pickles, a dinner roll with butter, and potato chips. “I can’t eat TWO lobsters,” I declared to no one in particular as I read the specials board while were lined up outside waiting for the restaurant to open. “Sure you can,” one of the men in front of me said, “they’re just small soft-shelled lobsters. Two are no problem.” Okay, who am I to argue? There were four lobsters on our table and they tasted amazing!

Henry took a giant dump while we were at Nunan’s and we had to change his diaper in the trunk of the rental car. It was a mess. He rode back to the hotel with no pants on. He was thrilled, as you can see.

Tomorrow we drive back down to Boston, and the wedding is on Saturday. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this! Recap coming soon to a baby blog near you.

I knew it was going to be a great trip when Henry expressed his displeasure wtih my impending departure by having an explosive poop 10 minutes before I had to jump in a cab to go to the airport. More poop came out of his body in that single poop event than has come out in a very long time. It was everywhere, and Raphe was nowhere, so it was just me, Henry, and the neverending smeary poop. I took it as an omen – and a good one at that. Great things were afoot!

The two days I spent in Denver were amazing. I got to catch up with Jodi’s mom (hadn’t seen her in more than 10 years!), get to know a little about Jodi’s fiancee (we hadn’t yet met), stroll around downtown Boulder, see Buffalo Bill’s gravesite (ask me sometime about the characters in the Buffalo Bill Museum…they were straight out of the Far Side), and ride an Alpine slide (woo!). I also got more consecutive hours of sleep Friday night (all spent dreaming of the cutest little round head this side of anywhere, natch) than I’ve gotten in a long time. AND I got to spend time with Jodi, which is just priceless. I couldn’t have wished for a better short getaway.

Jodi and I have seen each other more the past year than we have since college, and we’re going to meet again in several weeks for her wedding. There is simply no way for me to express how incredibly excited I am about this wedding and how proud I am to be a part of it. Jodi spent a long time wandering in the proverbial desert and to see her so happy now – well, it just warms my heart. Between Raphe and Henry, my life is as close to charmed as it can be, and my dear friend deserves that same shot at domestic bliss.

So, here’s to 33, Jodi! I love you as fiercely as any member of my family. This is going to be your best year yet.

Let me just say this: when you’re exhausted you don’t always have time for the social grease that makes normal interpersonal relationships run smoothly. Things quickly go from “Could you please get me the Desitin, Bubba” to “DESITIN! NOW!” Coupled with the inability to speak correctly that I mentioned last week and a corresponding inability to hear correctly that I forgot to mention last week, that “DESITIN! NOW!” can very easily come out as “DEZZTUN! NOO!” and very easily be heard as “GODDAMN YOU!”

You can perhaps see why this is a problem.

Sunday afternoon, Raphe and I had a nice little argument in the car as we were getting ready to go to the grocery store. It went like this:

Raphe: Did you just poop? Because there is nothing worse than a post-poop shower.
(Yes, everyone’s bowels are fair game for discussion these days.)
Me: <thinking>
(See, I knew there was something completely wrong with what Raphe has just said, but it took me a good 46 seconds to work out what it was.)
Me: Um. You mean post-shower poop?
(I know this is what he meant to say because he says it all the time. I think Raphe may be the only toilet-trained person on earth for whom pooping after he showers is a problem, but…well whatever.)
Raphe: No. Post-poop shower.
Me: NO, POST-SHOWER POOP.
(Studies show that sometimes increased volume helps the exhausted understand.)
Raphe: <pissy> POST-POOP SHOWER.
Me: POST. SHOWER. POOP.
Raphe: NO. No. NO. POST-POOP SHOWER.
Me: LISTEN to what you are SAYING. POST-POOP SHOWER? REALLY?
Raphe: <quiet> Wait, post-poop…no. Post-shower poop. You’re right.

Blissfully unaware of parental strife.

For the months leading up to our wedding, Kristen and I were on the Atkins diet. For me, it worked wonderfully, and I lost more than 30 pounds. But like most diets, behind that flattened stomach lay three months of terror and horror that we try never to talk about.

You see, while the diet was effective, the way that we ate wreaked havoc on our bodies and minds. Unable to each starch, every meal (regardless of how much meat and cheese we stuffed into our mouths) ended with us feeling full but unsatisfied. You’d still have the urge to eat, but there would be no room.

You craved sugars — and while they said those cravings would abate, they never did. Ever.

And you were completely and utterly insane. One Saturday, Kristen and I were going for a walk and we went into a grocery store to get something to drink. Kristen chose some fruity beverage that was loaded with carbohydrates. I was furious — and had a near temper tantrum — as Kristen taunted me as she slowly drank that cool, tasty beverage.

Needless to say, as soon as we landed in Los Angeles, we stopped off at an In-n-Out Burger and devoured a burger and fries (with the bun, people, with the bun!).

For me, however, the worst side effect of the diet was that it constipated me something fierce. Eating all that protein made me have only two bowel movements a week — on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. As someone who is used to a more frequent (but no less regular) toilet time, dropping down to twice a week was horrible. By Friday morning, I was cranky and irritable (more so than my usual Atkins irritability), and I dreamed of Friday afternoon not because the weekend was right around the corner but because my body would soon have that light and airy feeling of post-evacuation.

So why am I telling you this? Well, on Thursday morning, Henry had a bowel movement. And then… nothing since. Four long days with nary a poop. This is, suffice to say, unprecedented.

Our son has always been a frequent pooper. (I’ve written about often, but you can read more about it here, here, and here.) When the books said that he should be down to once or twice a day, he was still at four or five; when they said that we shouldn’t be surprised if he went an entire day without going, we’d be lucky if he hadn’t gone three times. But lately, he had been a once-a-day fellow (usually right around 6:30 in the morning, which is good for everyone involved; right after we all wake up and before we get him dressed for the day).

That is until Thursday when, after his regular morning constitutional, he stopped going completely. Nothing Friday. Nothing Saturday. And by Sunday afternoon, he was, as Kristen likes to call him when he’s really crabby, a “hot mess”. His naps were non-existent. He groaned for a half-hour straight. We knew we had to do something.

So we pumped his legs. He loved this and got a good laugh, but it wasn’t effective. We went to the grocery store and bought some pureed prunes. No go. (And have you ever smelled baby food prunes? My gag reflex was kicking in high gear.) We were so desperate, Kristen wanted us to go and get a baby suppository! (I put my foot down with that one.)

And last night was even worse. After struggling to get to sleep, he woke up at 12:30 and didn’t get back to bed until nearly 2:00 in the morning. (I’d rock him back to sleep, walk away, and 3 minutes later he’d be up again.)

Now this lack of pooping is a normal thing. Not for Henry, mind you, but for other babies. It’s not out of the question for babies his age to go a week between having a “business meeting”. But neither we nor Henry were used to this, so when it finally happened to us (and, mind you, it was only 4 days), nobody really knew what to do and everyone involved was unhappy.

I’m pretty confident that the poop will happen soon (and God help us all when it does). And if not, I’ll just go out and get more prunes.

(I just got news from Kristen — who’s home from work with a bad case of food poisoning. Henry has pooped, so much so that he had to immediately take a bath. I think the nanny’s in shock. But at least he got everything out of his system.)

I want Henry’s first steps to be going in my direction, I want him to thank me when he accepts his Nobel Prize, and I want his first word to be “Da-da.” Well, the first two can still happen, but I’ve lost out on the last.

That’s because this morning, at 5:45, Henry decided to say his first word.

For the past few weeks, he’s been babbling, making funny baby sounds. I love those baby noises. I never really thought that babies made those noises — I mean, Henry actually said “goo goo” — but he would sit there and talk and talk, whether it was to me or Kristen or his stuffed mouse or the ceiling fan (yes, he has reconciled with Fanny). He would sometimes mimic us, but it was always a little off. We’d say “baby” and he’d reply with a “buh.” We’d say daddy and he’d reply with a “buh.” (You see the pattern here?)

That is until today. He had just had his morning constitutional (ie, a bowel movement) and Kristen said the requisite “Yay poop!” (We still do this; Kristen actually read somewhere that by making your baby more comfortable about going to the bathroom, he will be easier to potty train later on.) Well, instead of just cooing as he usually does, this time he said something. He said…

poop

That’s right, people. Our child’s first word was “poop,” parroted back in the exact inflection Kristen used. Kristen, incredulous, exclaimed, “Baby, did you just say POOP?!” And then Henry said it again. Twice. And then he pooped. Again.

Frankly, we couldn’t be prouder. I mean, sure, “daddy” or maybe something that’s not so off-color would’ve been better, but really, who’s complaining. We’re pretty sure that Henry doesn’t know what poop means (although he’s certainly an expert at it) and we’d really like it if his next word was something that could be said in mixed company. But in the meantime, we’ll take what we can get.

Yay poop!

On Sunday Kristen was knocked on her butt with a nasty stomach bug, so bad that it didn’t really improve and she stayed home from work yesterday. (I’m sure she was just devastated — DEVASTATED — to no go in on a wonderfully cold and snowy day.) While this in itself is never a good thing, the fact that we have a young’n in the house meant that he, too, was likely to catch whatever she had.

So starting Sunday evening and all through Monday, Henry pooped with much greater frequency than his already much-too-often rate. I’ve noted this in the past, but most babies Henry’s age are down to one poop a day — some even skipping days between bowel movements. Not our son, who continues with his three or four a day. Our doctor said that, while not particularly common, we shouldn’t be worried because he’s gaining weight (boy is he ever) and not overeating.

Here’s the thing about Henry going to the bathroom. Right before he goes to the bank to make a deposit (this cliche is going to be the next great thing, people, so start using it on the ground floor), he gets very, very squirmy. He’ll twist his hips, lift his pelvis up and down, flail his arms and legs, and generally just lets everyone know that there’s something on the way.

Then he’ll stop, make a face not unlike what you’d expect someone to make while pooping, and there it goes. (Kristen has captured this face on film just once — it’s quite a rare sighting — but we’ve yet to release it.  I think we’ll break it out when Henry brings his first girlfriend home to meet us.)

This squirming is neither good nor bad; it just is. And this squirming is not relegated to his waking hours, as he does the same thing when he’s asleep. This is good for only one thing: when you walk into his room where he’s napping, if he’s broken out of his swaddle, he’s gone to the bank (see? it’s catchy); if he’s still fully swaddled, he’s just waiting until you change him into a clean diaper to go. (Oh, yes, he still does this.)

So back to yesterday. With his stomach problems going full force, Henry squirmed for eight straight hours. Poor kid. Thankfully, all that squirming meant he slept pretty well last night and today he’s been much better.

Oh, and Kristen’s feeling a little better, too.

Yes, there’s a good chance we’re going to try and have a second child. Kristen and I love  Henry, and even with all the “cons” out there, the “pros” definitely outweigh them and we’re leaning heavily toward making him a big brother. It’s just that I don’t really need to justify to strangers that maybe having only one child is fine and will not turn him into a monster.

Henry’s back to pooping five times a day. I don’t know what happened those few days last week when he dropped down to once and twice a daily, but he’s long forgotten that and gone back to his old ways. I’m okay with that, although I have to admit that I got a little upset at 2 this morning when, after changing his diaper, I didn’t even have a chance to fasten the new one onto his body when he made the face and started to go. And this is after playing with him for 10 minutes specifically so he would go before he was Pampered up. I tell you, now he’s doing it just out of spite.

Yesterday was my first day back in the office after nearly three straight weeks at home. I miss Henry so much, I actually have a stomach ache. (I’m definitely buying a lottery ticket tonight.) The amazing thing is that Henry napped beautifully for her yesterday — three long naps, including a 2-hour marathon in the morning. Again, as much as I love Henry, along with the pooping, he’s just toying with my emotions.

Henry is in full-blown teething mode. His lower gums are good and white, and I suspect one or two will be breaking through any day now. I don’t know if he’s in any pain, but it’s obvious that there’s a bit of discomfort. To help him out, I’ve been running my finger along his bottom gum — while he drools uncontrolably — whenever he starts to get mouthy. It seems to help. Poor kid.

This may surprise many of you, but this is one of those websites that makes no money. (Remember the late 90s when every dot-com had a fantastic IPO, even when it was something as sill as this?) I had hoped that several months after starting it, some strange man who lights his cigars with $100 bills would discover it and pay me a handsome salary just to tell our friends and family about our baby, but for some reason that’s yet to happen. Each month I pay a very small amount to keep this going, but it’s still something (about 50 diapers worth). So, for me to break even, I ask one thing of you. When you order something from Amazon (books, CDs, a flat-screen TV), click on the Amazon link you find to the right to get to the site. Every purchase you make, I earn a small (very small) comission. If you don’t… well, maybe I’ll just stop posting pictures of Henry. I’m not above blackmail.