When Andrew is constipated, it becomes essential when we are out of the house to put him in pull-up diapers. Literally and figuratively, it saves our asses.
We were browsing the toy aisles at our local Target when Andrew leaned thirty degrees into a display, grabbed the shelf, and turned red.
"Andrew," I said. "Are you going poop?"
"Rrrggrrruuummmmmmm," Andrew mumbled which I interpreted as a definite "yes".
"Let's go to the bathroom," I told Andrew as I grabbed his hand.
"No!" shouted Andrew. "I don't want to sit on the potty."
Soon, Andrew began to grunt and groan. Several people stared at him, and Andrew would just stare back and explain, "I'm going poo-poo."
When the redness in Andrew's face disappeared, I did what any good father would do: I had Mommy check his diaper.
Lisa peeked inside and twisted her body and face so much, I thought she was going to hunch over and shout, "Sanctuary!" She told me that Andrew's diaper was completely full with a mixture of constipated and prune-infused poop. It was the poop that was pushed out with the help of prunes that made Andrew's pants especially slushy.
"I need to take you to the car to change your clothes. Okay, Andrew?" asked Lisa.
"Okay," whispered Andrew.
And as they slowly shuffled to the car, there was only one thing that Andrew repeated over and over again. He kept on saying, "My poop is moving. My poop is moving. My poop is moving."
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