I like to call my daughter Princess Poopey Pants.  I think one can ascertain, for obvious reasons, why I refer to her as such but for those who might be a tad bit clueless, my daughter’s digestive tract is very healthy.  This morning I went through 5 diapers in a matter of about 30 minutes.  I like to chalk it up to the fact that I’m breastfeeding her and have been doing so religiously for the past four months.  Now before you either golf clap, roll your eyes or genuinely applaud my efforts, I never thought for a minute, *before* I got pregnant, that I wouldn’t do anything but breastfeed.  Although I had some major misgivings during those early, sleepless days when she was a newborn and wanting to feed at all hours and times, and considered formula for a split second, I haven’t regretted my decision to be my daughter’s food supply.  Sure it means being diligent in cleaning & sterilizing bottles and pump parts (I’m seriously a pro now), getting in an extra pumping session here or there so that she always has milk (whether it’s at 11pm or at 4:30am), and waking up in the middle of the night because my very small breasts are screaming out at me in pain because they are full of milk and have already leaked all over my sheets (do you know what dried breast milk smells like?  not very pleasant).  Regardless of the challenges, it has been worth it.  Even with the multiple diapers filled with poop of epic proportions.  The positive side to this, aside from all the health benefits that she’s supposedly getting, is the fact that her poop doesn’t smell as bad as formula fed babies.  Or so I’m told.  Regardless, any poop to me smells bad.  What makes it bearable is that fact that it’s coming from my precious Princess Poopey Pants and what’s coming out of her originates from me.  Kinda like some very odd circle of life thing minus Simba, Timon and Scar.