This has actually been the best day at "work"
yet. I have not been subjected to the
repeated screaming fits of an unhappy baby.
Instead, I have been subjected to the repeated cooing of a pleased and
happy baby while she plays on a quilt on the floor. I definitely will not be complaining about
that turn of fate. Not only did Ellie
play happily most of the morning, she even remained awake for close to three
hours without a nap. That's uber
impressive based upon how things have been going. I do, however, have a new observation regarding
child rearing. Or in this case the
cleaning of one's rear.
During the night last night, it was my turn to check on the
baby around 4:00 am. I got her roused
out of bed and proceeded to rock her to try and calm the cries. While getting yelled at by her, I then
realized her diaper was nice and bloated.
For some reason, diaper changing is something that comes difficult to me
on occasion. Certain times it's like I'm
tying my own shoe; other times it's like you're asking me defuse a nuclear
bomb. Do I cut the red wire? Do I cut the blue wire? Do I use the fruit juice? Somebody help me! It's especially perplexing as my wife has got
this process down to a science. She is
the Las Vegas Blackjack dealer of diaper changers. I think that's a good analogy, right? Blindfolded, one arm tied behind her
back? She's got it. I find it likely she could even rock it out
using her feet at this point!
Anyway, as I removed the diaper precariously (as one is wont
to do), I balled it up and tossed it away.
With great precision, I extracted the wet wipe from its airtight sealed
packaging and initiated the cleaning process.
Now, for the trickiest part. Replacing
the faulty, soiled diaper with a new and pristine version. Carefully lifting the baby, the new diaper is
slid underneath her. As I set Ellie
down, her legs suddenly gain a life of their own and begin to dance all across
the changing pad. I could be
exaggerating but I'm relatively certain that one of her legs achieved the process
of spinning itself completely around where the foot was facing her rear. Again, I must stress that I was sleep
deprived, it was 4:00 am, and myths and legends can become fact. After five minutes (literally), the deed was
done and the installation was completed.
All it took to do so was holding my baby's legs with one arm and doing
the changing one handed. If a rodeo
cowboy can ride a bull for eight seconds one handed, I should be able to change
my daughter's diaper doing so as well, right?
Little did I know that I had been dealing with a ticking
clock. As I sat down with Ellie in the
rocker to peacefully guide her back to Slumbertown, I began to hear a gurgling
coming from deep within. Her face
contorted from one of sheer relaxation to one of fierce determination. And then the explosion. That sound when the ketchup bottle is running
on empty three times. Back to back to
back. And then, silence. The peaceful look returns to my daughter's
face as she closes her eyes and sighs blissfully. I then count my blessings that the diaper had
not taken me six minutes to change. Or
else, there would have been a different kind of changing to do.
#DaddyWrite
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