Liquids and Solids

I hesitate to write this post.
But how can I write about new motherhood without addressing this issue? The one that makes people glance down uncomfortably when you bring it up at dinner? Because you have to bring it up at dinner if people expect you to talk about your new life.
I'm talking about all the sundry liquids and (quasi) solids that me and Lucy produce. Mostly her.
Here's the list:
a) drool.
b) snot (she's been congested lately).
c) pee.
d) the perennial favorite, poop.
e) belly button lint.
f) toe lint (did you know babies have toe lint? Lucy's is BLACK! Don't worry, it's from her black socks)
e) weird white cheesy stuff that collects in various folds of her skin. I swab it out with q-tips.

And for me, b) (I have a cold), c) and d) (of course). Along with f) milk. Lots and lots of milk. Most of it ends up in Lucy's belly, and eventually forms one of her many chins, but some of it dribbles out and onto my shirt. I love the black shirt with the "mystery fluid" drips in the middle of my chest. Not just the stains--the actual white milk forming droplets and dripping onto the floor. I look like a soft drink station at In N Out.
Or if I've gone for a long time without nursing (or Lucy pulls off mid-suck) I get a fine jet of milk spraying her face, the dresser, my clothes, the table. Whenever I dust, i find odd, sticky stains on things. "What is that?--oh."

What with the EC (again, that's Elimination Communication for you neophytes), Dyami and I talk about bodily functions even more than most new parents.
GASP!
He usually reminds me with a stern look when (not if) I bring it up over meals.
But the thing is, we have to give progress reports to each other. So that when the other takes Lucy to the bathroom the next time, we have some idea what to expect.
Lately we've taken to hand gestures (i.e., one or two fingers) to avoid that awkward pause in the conversation. Most of our friends aren't parents. I'd add on the "yet", but I'm afraid with us talking about poop so much, they won't want to take the plunge.

My parents have been pretty good sports with us doing the crazy/crunchy/hippie/ultra-granola EC journey. My mom even gets a kick out of telling her friends. One friend is Cantonese. She nodded when my mom told her (See! China and India!) Another (very nice) lady wouldn't't listen to my mom bragging about Lucy peeing in the toilet at a month old. She shook her head and said, very firmly, "Babies don't have bladder or bowel control until after two."
She should have been here today. I finished nursing Lucy, and she was wiggling and grunting. Classic "hey, I have to poop" face. Take her to the sink. She pees, she poops. She is a champ. I turn her sideways and make the sign for "all done" before I rinse off her bum.
She fusses.
I decide--maybe she's not done. Maybe I'll give her another chance.
Not thirty seconds later, she goes again. She was most definitely not all done.
Then when I signalled "all done," a second time, she looked bored. As if saying, "Of couse I'm done, now, slowpoke."
Yes, we have a preternaturally smart child. She is three months old!
And yes, I feel much better for getting this $%*@ out. Oh, sweet relief!