No wonder he's constipated...

"He's so constipated, I just am so tired of it, nothing works," I sighed heavily into the phone, and she started talking before I even finished the last word.

"Ya know, honey, I was always constipated my whole life," she started and went on for about five minutes about the details of her digestive life history.

"Mom, this isn't about you," I reminded her, "this is about Evan."

"Well duh, I know that, I'm just saying, I'm his grandmother so it's not about me personally. It's, ya know, about me and him." Her words were strongly stressed. I understood her point, but I was tired of hearing so much about her anyway.

"I don't want to scare you or anything, but ya know how my mom's first baby died," she went on, "it was because of constipation." I cringed, not out of fear of constipation, but out of her usual lack of tact. Explaining the details of the death, her voice was grim: "Daddy's mother gave her some kind of medicine and they took her to the hospital. Her stomach was getting bigger and bigger...And within four hours, she was dead." Now I shuddered at the horror of the story but didn't say a word. Rather, I tried changing the topic to a lighter, happier subject, explaining how JR and Evan play.

"Evan loves this...JR slowly pulls Evan off the bed and hangs him upside down by his ankles." I smiled to myself, anticipating her reaction.

"For God's sake! He better not do that in front of me!" she hurled out. Then she paused and said, "No wonder Evan's constipated."

I wondered how hanging a kid upside could cause constipation and thought, with that reasoning, perhaps if I jump up and down with Evan or spin him in circles I could cause him to have diarrhea. Maybe laying him on his left side will cure his diaper rash, too.

* * * * *

A couple hours later the phone rang while I was changing Evan's poopless diaper and I heard my mother's voice chattering away on the answering machine. I listened to the five-minute long message when she hung up.

"Ya know, I was thinking about Evan and I bet I know what it is. Your Aunt Hildy had the same problem and had to go to the hospital twice for it. What happens is it gets turned sideways, and you have to get a finger in there to manually turn it back the right way. So I bet that's what's wrong with Evan."

The image played out in my mind, despite my resistance. I thought of how a turd can be turned sideways inside you, like a sausage laying over a buttonhole. I decided that was taking too much energy, so I turned away from the answering machine, not bothering to call back.