25% of one year

Today is Peter’s third monthiversary. And to celebrate, he…

Ok, first of all, let me interrupt here. I have to warn any reader that this will cover things that you wouldn’t want to discuss, say, when you meet the queen. And I know it’s a subject I’ve covered before, but the events of this morning do demand relating. So if you don’t want to read another post describing unsanitary happenings, please scroll down and look at the pictures. Ok? You have been warned, but you may miss out on a smashing story if you skip it.

Where was I? Oh yes, blah blah third monthiversary, yadda yadda celebrate. So Peter’s mom had gone away for work and Peter was a wiggly little guy who didn’t want to be napping at the moment. A squishy toot came from his hind quarters and so I waited the customary 5 minutes before bringing him over to the changing table (so anything else that might be coming out is vacated prior to being exposed to sunlight). I get him down and unsnap his onesie and then unfasten the straps of the diaper. He did quite the good job of filling the diaper, yet not overpowering it. I look over to my right to grab a baby wipe when I hear a splishing noise coming from my left, a sound I was not a stranger to anymore. In an instant I jerk my head over and saw not only that Peter was alleviating the pressure on his bladder, but that he was, in fact, spraying it onto his face. In a jiffy the baby wipe meant for his fanny was slapped down onto his lap and a dry towel was up at his face. All was not well at that point, however. While suddenly having to tend to his face I let go of his ankles, and his legs started pumping up and down like they normally do when we change his diaper. But I never got to remove the dirty diaper from the changing pad, so his feet and legs were doing their exercises right into the messy diaper. So, here is my son, half naked, covered in his pee and poo, wiggling, wiggling, wiggling.

I managed to clean off his feet, legs and bottom, and dry off his face. I then removed the wet onesie, and set to work on getting a clean diaper on him. And then the geyser went off again, straight up for the most part this time, but it did get all over his chest and belly, and the new diaper. Considering the work I had in front of me in the form of my darling little son needing fresh apparel I managed to stay focused on the job at hand, but I did question what evil I had ever committed to deserve such treatment.

I cleaned him up again, and had a diaper almost on him when, as I was applying diaper-rash protecting ointment to his nether-regions, he released his bowels again. On me, and my wedding ring. Well, I’m not going to continue with hands like that, so I dash off to the bathroom and do the fastest hand washing I think I’ve ever done. I come back to find the changing pad even wetter than before, and little droplets next to the changing pad. Oh, this just in, my name is now Sisyphus. Peter does mean “rock,” you know.

Away goes the now soiled diaper, and out comes another clean one. Butt up, diaper down. Toot, again. Sigh.

At this point I figure I’m not even going to try to get a diaper on him any more. But he still is dirty from all the relief he’s been getting. I had no choice but to give him a bath. But neither I nor his mom had ever given him a bath alone. All throughout this process I needed four hands, yet I was cursed by being born with only two (if ever there was a time to be a Hindu god, this was it). Now I was going to give him a bath? “Your boy needs you!” I thought to myself, “take charge!” So back I go to the bathroom, and I get his baby tub ready. I come back to pick him up and he’s made another puddle. I don’t care any more, it’s bath time, he can pee all he wants in the tub.

I place him gently in the sudsy tub and he does just fine. I wash him wherever he had soiled himself (but I don’t go for the hair, that’s not necessary). I drain out the sudsy water and rinse him off and lift him out of the tub, dry him, and place him in his crib while I remove the messy changing pad cover and replace it with a clean one. A moment later he’s in a clean diaper and is dressed.

Needless to say, all through this process Peter was his normal happy self. I’m sure he thought it was great fun.