When Ajin's face turned beet red at eleven months old

It was March 2023, and spring was just starting to show its face in the cold morning air. Ajin was eleven months old, nearly reaching that big one-year milestone, and I was feeling quite proud of how well she was transitioning to thicker food particles. She had always been a 'one-poop-a-day' kind of baby, usually leaving me a nice little surprise right after her morning milk. But then, the rhythm just stopped. By the second day of no news in her diaper, I noticed her face suddenly turning a deep, alarming shade of crimson while she was playing with her blocks. She wasn't crying, but she was grunting with an intensity that made her little neck veins pop out.

Pudding, our Munchkin cat, was watching this entire scene from the top of the scratching post. With her characteristic aloofness, she just flicked her tail and stared at Ajin with those big, unbothered eyes, eventually jumping down and trotting away on her short little legs. I, on the other hand, was far from unbothered. I felt this heavy pit in my stomach, wondering if I had messed up her meal prep or if she wasn't drinking enough water. I tried to stay calm, telling myself it was just a temporary glitch in her system, but every time I saw that red face, my heart sank a little deeper.

Two days of pouring apple juice based on mom-cafe rumors

By the third morning, the house felt tense. I had spent the previous night scrolling through various Korean mom-cafes, reading hundreds of comments that all seemed to suggest the same thing: apple juice. 'Just give her a few ounces of 100% apple juice and wait,' the comments said. 'It works every time.' So, I went out and bought the best organic juice I could find, practically begging Ajin to drink it. I even tried giving her a belly massage, moving my hands in a 'sun and moon' pattern I saw on YouTube, but she just pushed my hands away and started to wail.

That's when my husband's anxiety really kicked into high gear. He is usually the more cautious one, but this time he was on a whole different level. He sat at the dining table with his laptop open, his face illuminated by the blue light as he scrolled through medical journals and parenting forums. 'Do you think this could be a bowel obstruction?' he asked, his voice trembling slightly. He started showing me diagrams of the digestive tract and reading out symptoms of severe complications. It was the worst possible thing he could have done for my stress levels. This is just our personal experience, and every baby is different, so if you're worried about your little one, please make sure to consult a pediatrician directly instead of just following what you read online like I did at first.

The pediatrician's office and the D-day log

We finally gave in on the afternoon of the third day and headed to the clinic. The pediatrician was much calmer than we were, which helped a little. She explained that at this stage of weaning, it's often more about the balance of fiber and the size of the food particles rather than just chugging water or juice. She told us to stop the juice—which was likely just making her more bloated—and focus on high-fiber additions. My husband was nodding so vigorously I thought his glasses might fall off. He took notes on his phone like he was at a high-stakes business meeting.

From D+4 to D+7, our life revolved entirely around the state of Ajin's diaper. My husband, in his classic Pattern B style, had researched the most highly-rated infant probiotics and insisted we switch brands immediately. We started mixing prune puree and ground oatmeal into her morning porridge. D+4 passed with nothing. D+5 was just more red-faced grunting and a lot of crying from all three of us. Even Haneul, our timid Maltese, started to feel the stress. He hates loud noises and new situations, so whenever Ajin started her 'constipation grunt,' he would tuck his tail and hide under the guest room bed, only peeking out when things quieted down.

The morning we celebrated rabbit poop

It finally happened on the morning of D+7. I remember the silence in the living room being broken by a very specific, familiar sound. Ajin wasn't turning red this time; she looked focused. I held my breath and looked at my husband, who had frozen mid-sip with his coffee cup. We waited, not wanting to jinx it. When I finally laid her down and opened that diaper, it wasn't the 'golden poop' we usually hoped for. It was small, hard, and looked exactly like rabbit droppings.

In any other context, it would have been gross. But my husband and I actually clapped. We were so relieved that she had finally passed something that we didn't care about the texture. He immediately went to his spreadsheet and logged the time, color, and consistency with more detail than a lab report. I think that was the moment I realized we had officially entered a new phase of parenthood—one where we celebrate things we never thought we'd even talk about. Even Pudding seemed to sense the change in atmosphere, as she wandered back into the room and sat right next to Ajin, sniffing the air with her usual judgey expression.

Still holding my breath every time she grunts

Even though that crisis passed, the fear hasn't really left the house. Our refrigerator door is now a permanent gallery of prune puree pouches and high-fiber yogurt. My husband still keeps that log on his phone, and he's become the self-appointed 'Fiber Police,' checking every ingredient label of the snacks I buy. He's currently obsessed with finding a specific type of barley tea that he read might help with hydration better than plain water.

Sometimes, when Ajin is playing quietly and suddenly stops to strain, my heart still skips a beat. I look over at my husband, and I can see him doing the same thing—we both freeze, waiting to see if it’s a 'normal' one or if we’re about to head back into another week of stress. It feels like we’ve solved the immediate problem, but the uncertainty is still there. I've been thinking about whether we should try cutting back on her dairy intake next, or maybe looking into a different brand of goat milk formula. I'm just not sure if that will make things better or just create a whole new set of problems to worry about.

next_post: The time I tried to make homemade yogurt and ended up with a kitchen disaster.