Let me just tell you, I hate farts. I used to love 'em. I have yet to meet a fart joke I dont think is at least chuckle-worthy, and possibly downright hilarious. However, once you become a parent, farting is suddenly deadly serious. You see, farts are the harbingers of bad things with babies. They may herald the coming of a heavy diaper. They may simply just smell like, well, like a fart. Or, in the worst scenario, they wake your baby up. Thats the kicker for me. I dont mind diapers. I dont even really mind dirty diapers. What I do hate is when my daughter is sleeping soundly, and then at 3am has to pass gas... and because she is a baby it doesnt come naturally. So, flailing commences. Legs are kicked. Grunts start. And, horrifyingly, she wakes up as her cute little intestines work the gas through her system. To a baby, even minor discomfort is usually a crying matter.
There have been nights, where I hear her little cry, knowing that she isnt fully awake. She begins to roll back and forth, kicking her legs. I know she has a fart coming. I dread it. I stay deathly still, hoping that if I am perfectly still that it will somehow make the fart pass and my daughter fall back asleep. Eyes wide open, breathing slowed, I pray that things (ahem) work themselves out. Sometimes they do, sometimes they dont and I have to get up and help put her back to sleep.
Waking at 3am hearing that your baby has a fart coming is a special sort of dread I never knew about until a few months ago. Its terrifying and demoralizing at the same time.
Farts. They wake my daughter up at night. For that, they hold my eternal enmity.
