Skip to main content

Diapering Tips, Tricks and 3-way Eruptions for New Moms

An early morning diaper change, barely awake. I remove the diaper, and check the contents - nothing extraordinary. Tossing the diaper into the trash over my shoulder, I yawn and pluck a couple wet wipes. I got this. Half-asleep, 5am, no problemo. I could do this baby business blindfolded now. Baby  Boy looks at me, cooing, in a happy morning mood. Through my own morning misery, my lips can't help but break a smile, breaking my lip crust (after having drooled through two whole hours of uninterrupted sleep, following Feeding #10 at 3am).

This morning, I learn this vital lesson:

 - Have Your Next Diaper Ready Before you Undo the Last

Suddenly, I am bombarded by simultaneous eruptions of spurting poop-lava and a warm pee-fountain. I swiftly field two additional streams of hissing poop, as they squirt furiously in various directions, using only wet wipes as shields. I am gravely under-armed.

As calm gradually returns to the scene, I contemplate the anti-climactic clean-up. Then, with Karate Master speed, I grab his leg before it is dunked into bubbling lava. Let's do paint-dipped footprint portraits later, Baby.

Baby watches me with large, vacant eyes. That must be the look of infant love. We regard each other with adoration for a sweet moment, and I hope that by now, in this field of poop and pee - none of which is my own, Baby will finally realize I have passed and surpassed all his tests to prove my true love. That's when he turns his head to the side, vomits milk over his shoulder and turns back to me, with an innocent blink, as if nothing happened. I would have thought it was sleep-deprived hallucination if it weren't for the puddle of milk-white sick-up, soaking into baby hair.

No need for coffee this morning. Wide awake.

[2018: Please comment if you like any of these short stories/blog posts and I will post more]

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

NOT a Funny Story. Read "A Cockroach in Brooklyn" Below Instead

This is NOT a funny story. Do not read.  Seriously. This post will be boring (unless you know me maybe, like, if you are my mum)  Skip to the next post, or any of the others - those are my very funny short stories. "A Cockroach in Brooklyn" (https://sophieannas.blogspot.com/2009/06/cockroach-part-deux.html) is possibly my best short story ever. Seriously. It's very undiscovered. It's not that undiscovered. 94 people have read it, I see that from the analytics of Blogger.  Maybe 90 of those were me editing it. I have 4 people in my immediate family.  So it is, it's undiscovered. Go ahead, you can discover it. But don't read the rest of this. Really. Stop here. Bye. From Loss comes Gain. From a Victim emerges a Protagonist. From the ashes of burned life morphs a...movie! Leah is a pastor's daughter in a sparsely-populated desert town in California's San Bernardino County. She plans to follow in his footsteps, and attends college to study Christiani...

A Cockroach in Brooklyn: A Short Story to Bug You

Feb 21 Two nights in a row, a cockroach has appeared, happy-go-lucky, just dangling his antennae out on top of my mirror above the sink. The first time I saw him, I swatted at him with my lime green fly swatter. I could tell I just knocked him off his perch and didn’t kill him. But when I saw him in exactly the same place the next day – at the right-hand edge, facing north, just like before - I couldn’t believe it. Twiddling his little scrawny hands as if coating himself with sun tan lotion on a glorious day at the beach. I swatted him again, but I know I just knocked him over. For a second, I got really mad at this obnoxious cockroach, who wouldn’t go away, dodging my swats time and again. Then, as I was walking back to the living room, I realized that that little critter out there is my new roommate. Suddenly my feelings changed. I found myself looking for him in his regular spot when I brushed my teeth to go to bed. If I don’t see him tomorrow when I get home from work, I migh...

The Evil Pot-bellied Pig: Big Fat Pig Post

My sister Julie bought a pig. Not a puppy. Not a kitten. Not even a hamster or a rabbit. A pig. It was a black-haired Vietnamese pot-bellied piglet. She lost all claims to creativity by naming him Pig-Pig. Not Ham-ster, not Boar-Butt, not Baby Back Ribs, but Pig-pig. Pig for short. When I first met Pig-pig, he had outgrown his cute, bunny-sized stage: he had left his stubby, wet piggy-snout behind – a snout which Julie kissed lovingly and repeatedly. Maybe I would have warmed to him more if I had memories of holding his apple-sized belly in my palm, interlacing my fingers between his tiny hooves, listening to his baby-sized snuffs while he nuzzled against my chest. But I didn't have the pleasure. When I first came nose-to-snout with my porcine nephew, he was already a 200-pound, honking, snorting, beast-borne-of-the-devil, complete with dripping nostrils and an underbite of sharp beige teeth. Now, I love animals to the point where I’ll sob if the horse falls over in a ...