_uacct = “UA-4888259-1″;urchinTracker();You haven’t lived until you’ve spent a night with your child screaming “Owwwiiiiieeeeee!” on the toilet for an hour.

When you’ve spent the last year and a half giving her two different stool softeners a day (Lansoyl jelly and Lax-a-Da powder) and seen no effect.

When you’ve held her down with all 150lbs of your own body weight while she smashes her head against the tile floor to avoid the enema in your hand because she hasn’t gone in 2 weeks.

When you’ve thrown away more underpants than you remember buying because they were soiled by soft little accidents that can’t be called a bowel movement.

When the ER just X-rays and offers enemas. When the pediatrician just suggests to be more consistent with the laxatives. When the fissures require steroid creams.

When she’s nowhere near constipated, but holds it in so long because “It hurts so much, Mommy!”

When every behavioral bribery has backfired and made it worse than before, and you’re left feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, a failure and useless, crying in bed at night.

When it just sucks so damn much.

And now you’re trying to take out all the dairy so it hurts less, make sure that it’s not made into a big deal, make sure you’re being vigilant about her diet and aids, and feeling so hopeless because “they grow out of it” is BS when you’ve got a three-and-a-half year old who won’t eat anymore because her tummy hurts so she lies and says she’s full.

And when you have to do all of this with her twin sister watching, not understanding any of it, only knowing that her “dizzard” is sad and hurt, and that she’s not getting the same attention because she’s healthy.