Monday Morning Mess

This morning, at the time Peter normally naps, he was awake and talking away in my lap. He was in my lap because he announced from bed that he was fully conscious and didn’t want to be lying down any more. So there he was, sitting on my leg, yammering away as he now does several times a day. Eventually I wondered why the cuff of my right shirt sleeve felt wet. I had kept his drooling pretty much centered over his body, and if it was going to hit me it would have gotten the left side, not the right. And why was the wet part kind of yellow? And why does… it… smell… funny? Oh dear.

I got him to the changing table (carrying him with my arms fully outstretched, like he was actually a lump of plutonium instead of my happy little dude) and took off his outfit and gently removed the straps of the diaper. And there I saw something that makes the Tunguska Event look like the pop of bubble wrap. I should have known when I changed his diaper at 4:30 and all he did all night was pee, that some storm was a-brewin’ in there. I should be thankful that the force of the payload didn’t cause the diaper to blast off his derrière and affix itself to the wall (or worse, punch a hole through). After cleaning up his privates and getting him into a new, clean diaper, I had to spend about five minutes properly stretching before I could attempt to toss the used diaper into the trash for fear of pulling a muscle while bearing the weight of Peter’s mighty load. Of course, I had to get him in a new outfit, and then I had to get myself into a new outfit as well.

As I’ve mentioned in the past, Peter now enjoys having his diaper changed, so he found the whole process to be quite the entertainment. He even didn’t mind having his outfit removed and a new one put on. Yes, he’s come a long way since Mommy and Daddy were tyrants for subjecting him to the trauma of the changing table. I’m glad he had a nice time. Several hours later, however, I noticed that I had a little stain on my left pants leg that I missed before walking out the door to work. Good thing it’s pale and not too obvious. I’d hate to have to explain it to a co-worker. “That? Oh, it’s poo- … uh, pudding. I spilled the pudding I had… for breakfast. Yeah.”

And speaking of drool (remember, in the first paragraph?), after I had him cleaned up and changed I was holding him up with his head at my shoulder. He kind of nuzzled my neck for a while, which was cute, I suppose, but after I had put him down for a nap I realized he had soaked the collar of my shirt (the replacement for the poo poo platter I thought I’d be wearing this day). I decided to stick with the shirt, though. The more parenting you do, the more forgiving you become of your own appearance. You find yourself judging whether the spit-up stains you have on your sleeve are big enough to merit switch or not. And as time goes on, the stains that are ok get bigger and bigger. By the time Peter is 6 months old, I think I’ll walk into work entirely covered in spit-up and drool and think nothing of it.

Let’s see, there’s gotta be something else new that doesn’t involve Peter’s bodily fluids. Um… Well, again, as mentioned in the first paragraph, his speaking has increased. He will now talk, mostly to himself, for 10-20 minutes at a time. Not many consonants yet other than M and W. The “hewwo wumbo” he said to me a couple weeks ago early in the morning as I changed his diaper hasn’t been repeated since, and the B part of it is pretty uncommon for him. So I could hopefully get “hewwo” again, but “wumbo” more likely would come out as “wumo.” Now, if the first time he said it he included the B accidentally, and he really meant “hewwo wumo” there are certain translations that could be inferred. “Hewwo” obviously is “hello.” Of this there can be no doubt. “Wumo” could have been an attempt at “woman.” However, Peter, who is a smart little boy, knows that Daddy is not a woman, he is a man. (Here’s where I can prove not only Peter’s vast intellect at 11 weeks old, but also his worldliness.) I spelled “wumo” phonetically here, but it could just as well have been spelled “uomo” and the pronunciation is essentially the same – especially when spoken by a 2 month old baby. And as everyone knows, uomo is Italian for “man.” “Hello, man.” So, not only is Peter smart, not only is he worldly - he is also hip. Dude!