Every so often, there is a moment in child rearing that is
so awful that words cannot fully describe.
So of course, I'm going to blog about it. Using my words. That's appropriate, right? For you to get the full story, I must first
take you back. Back to the year,
2017. The date? January 5th.
The time? 6:09 am (Central
Standard Time).
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| Hello alarm clock, my old friend... |
Bethany had awoken me early per my request of the previous
evening so that I could have adequate time to clean off our driveway before she
needed to leave for work. Begrudgingly,
I rolled out of bed (after eleven minutes), tossed on a couple of layers of
clothes and my boots, and headed outside to dig us out. Once completed, I wandered back inside and
spent a little time hanging out with Bethany and Ellie before she would leave
for work. At about 8:00 am (still
Central time), I put Ellie down in her swing for a nap. Per normal protocol, she would fuss and cry
for approximately fifteen to twenty minutes before finally drifting off. I myself was a little tired so decided around
9:00 am to take a short nap as well.
I actually underestimated how tired I actually was as I did not
wake up from said nap until 11:02 am.
Hearing my daughter stirring happily, but not crying, I bounded down the
stairs with great excitement to retrieve her from her swing. I laid down on the floor and sat Ellie
upright on stomach, smiling broadly at her.
It was then that her stench overtook me.
It was time for a kind of diaper change that hadn't been done in three
days. I then put her in my arms and
headed upstairs to her room for a quick change which would be followed by her
lunch.
As I laid her down on the table, I quickly noticed a wet
spot on my stomach. Just assuming it was
drool, I then glanced down at my right arm as I was undressing her to find
another suspicious wet spot. At this
point, my nerves began to kick in. As I
removed her pajamas, I was mortified to find an enormous brown stain that had
seeped through the pajamas. Smelling my
shirt, I then realized that's what the wet spot was. As I removed Ellie's diaper, the enormity of
the moment overtook me. I quickly
realized this wasn't a one wet-wipe job; it wasn't even a two wet-wipe
job. It was time to go nuclear and initiate
emergency bath-time protocol, stat!
Using one hand to support Ellie's back and the other to hold
her legs aloft, I turned and headed to the bathroom with great swiftness only
to encounter several issues upon my arrival.
The shower curtain on our bathtub was closed, there was no bath water
prepared, and the vicious brown liquid was about to drop from Ellie's posterior
to the blue bathmat below. Seeing no
other alternative, I quickly stuffed Ellie into our bathroom sink where violent
screams would commence. Probably
something to do with her essentially being in a ball. I then drew Ellie a warm bath as quickly as I
could and transported her to the bath water.
Once in the tub, I gently washed her until all remaining residue was off
of her and floating in the bath water like algae on a country pond.
As I laid Ellie on her ducky towel on the bathroom floor
(only to be met by additional screams), I realized that I had not brought
clothes or a replacement diaper. I then
retreated to her room to obtain the necessary adornments and returned to the
bathroom to dress her as quickly as possible.
At this point, I took a deep breath (in and out) as I held my screaming
child, silently thanking the inventors of modern plumbing for running water. Without them, none of this would have been
possible. #DaddyWrite
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| Oh ducky towel, the things you have seen... |
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