The Tao of Poo

I remember when my daily life used to be dictated by work deadlines and social engagements. Now it revolves around bowel movements and breast feedings.
Welcome to mommyhood.
Another change: I'm still apt to forget to record transactions in my checkbook. But for the past three weeks, I have diligently kept track of every single one of our newborn son's poopy diaper changes and his feedings. I started the log initially to make sure he was doing enough of each activity. Let me explain...
In the days after I gave birth, I kept getting these throbbing headaches and shooting pains in my neck and shoulders. Initially, I figured it was the result of some combination of sleep deprivation, exposure to high-decibel baby screams, and the aftermath of delivering a new life into the world. But by the third day, I was unable to consume anything without throwing it back up minutes later. Finally, I called my OB and described the symptims. Worried that I had preeclampsia, she ordered me to go back to the hospital immediately. The doctors took urine and blood samples, and I was hooked up to a bag of fluids and anti-nausea medication via IV for 5 hours before I was finally able to drink a 20 ounce Starbucks latte--prescribed by the doctor on call, who diagnosed a spinal dura puncture, after ruling out more than a dozen much more troubling possibilities. (The dural puncture, apparently a not so uncommon event--occurring in 1 out of every 100 epidural insertions, according to Wikipedia--that heals itself in 7-10 days, can cause debilitating headaches and even vomiting in some women, which can be alleviated by pain pills and, yes, coffee). By this time, I'd been dehydrated and malnourished for hours, so I had trouble producing milk and was worried that I'd been unintentionally starving our son until we gave him some hospital-issued formula.
It's kind of a guessing game when you're breastfeeding, which I'd been trying to do--with mixed success and the help of a $200-a-visit lactation consultant (now that is a lucrative business)--since he was born. The best way to know if our baby was eating enough, according to our pediatrician, was by inspecting the color of his poo and by counting the number of poo-filled diapers my husband and I changed per day. I'm embarrassed to admit now how excited we were when my husband changed that first diaper filled with mustard-colored poop and again when our son achieved six poops a day. Once he'd gained some weight and my breasts had recovered from the initial "latching" issues (all I can say is: I dread the day he gets teeth!), I relaxed even more. Still, I kept the log going to remember which side he'd last fed on--a particular challenge during groggy overnight feedings. Then, after I'd gotten better at keeping track mentally, I figured I'd maintain the log to track our son's eating and sleeping habits, so I could plan my days a bit better. Of course, every time I discern a pattern, he changes it. Yet I still feel compelled to record every diaper that I change and every breastfeeding. Maybe I do it now to feel like I have some semblance of control over my schedule, or to remind myself why I wasn't able to clean the apartment or respond to emails or get out those holiday/birth announcement cards or any number of other items on my to-do list. Or maybe I do it just to assure myself that I am doing something worthwhile each day, even if it's no longer reflected in a paycheck.