YO MAMA: Confession, I love my baby's farts
“He just popped!”
It was a phrase my husband and I probably used more than any other during my son’s first year of life.
“Popped” was the word we used when the kid farted because that’s what it felt like when you were holding him, cradling his butt in your hand, and he let one rip — a little pop of air right in your palm.
We loved it when he “popped.” When he was really little, the farts didn’t even smell. We felt so lucky to have a baby with perfect, odourless farts. We would invite guests to take a whiff, fanning the gas in their direction. “Look! See! They don’t even smell!”
Later, when he started solid foods and the farts transformed into truly pungent emissions, we still didn’t really mind them. The odours weren’t so much disgusting as they were fascinating. I guess that’s what unconditional love is.
As he grew, so did his flatulence. We were so proud of his loud, rumbling farts. I was not prepared for how grown up his farts would sound. I thought they would be small and delicate, like fish bubbles. But they were big and bold and boisterous — at times so startling they made you jump.
Sometimes, after checking his diaper, we would proclaim in utter astonishment “it was only a fart!” The other person would say something like “wow, incredible” or “are you sure?” and double check the diaper in disbelief. This exchange occurred almost daily and the novelty never wore off.
For the first six months or so, when our son farted he would just carry on nonchalantly with whatever he was doing. We found this positively hilarious. Later, he would react to the sound of his farts with a little startle and a glance over the shoulder but you could tell he didn’t know where it came from. We would play along by throwing our hands up and saying “what was that?” We couldn’t wipe the goofy grins off our faces.
And then one day he began laughing at his own farts. There is only one sound funnier than a baby farting, and that is a baby laughing at his own farts. Once, our son laughed so hard that the force of his giggles pushed out a staccato of additional farts that left us all reeling with laughter.
Another time, during a major temper tantrum, the force of his crying seemed to have a similar effect and as I bounced him, attempting to console him, he let out a bunch of loud, honking farts. I don’t know if it was the ensuing laughter, or the relief from passing all that gas, but we all felt much better after that. Proof, I think, that farts are the best medicine.
Conservatively, I would say that at least 17 per cent of my day is spent laughing at baby farts. There are so many different kinds: sneeze-farts, cough-farts, bumpy-stroller ride-farts, early-morning-stretch-farts, right-in-the-face-farts, playing-on-the-bed-farts, in-the-tub-farts, (thank-god-it-was-only-a-fart-farts), public-places-farts, while-mom-is-on-the-phone-farts, I-love-you-so-much-tight-squeeze-whoops-there’s-a-fart!-farts. I avoid thinking about what I will do when the time comes that farting openly (and laughing hysterically about it) is no longer appropriate.
Nowadays, right before a fart, a sly smile will pass across my son’s face. I think it is because he knows how much I love them. He will stop whatever he is doing and there is this moment of complete silence right before he pops. Then, we all go wild. His laughter is like that of a jolly old man recalling a favourite tale of tomfoolery from his childhood. It is pure and unabashed and joyous. Such are the silly, precious moments that make up our new day-to-day lives as parents.
Now, don’t get me started on his poops. That’s a story for another day.
— Charlotte Helston gave birth to her first child, a rambunctious little boy, in the spring of 2021. Yo Mama is her weekly reflection on the wild, exhilarating, beautiful, messy, awe-inspiring journey of parenthood.
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