Wednesday 16 March 2011


I’m just going to say it, if I get sh*t on one more day, I’m going to lose it. No, I’m not speaking metaphorically. Not today anyway. In this instance, I am talking about the King’s backside literally exploding four times a day and of course it’s usually all over me. At the moment I’m hoping it’s teething. Either that, or my son has some killer virus that has taken over his intestines and has no sign of abating.

The scariest – or in fact, most surprising - part is how I react to these occurrences. If you had told me a year ago that I would soon be dealing with excrement on a daily basis, not to mention wearing it,  I would run screaming from the room. But as life would have it, the sight of it now anywhere on my person does not cause me to flinch. In fact, I simply sigh with  acquiescence and start to figure out how to get it off me without it getting it on the furniture, bed, pillows etc. I’m sure you’re wondering what the heck is going on in our house if I can’t contain a simple diaper, but I’m telling you, on some days there is no diaper strong enough to rein the situation in. It’s like one of those bad horror films where evil exits in the form of an insidious vapor – you can’t run or hide, it will find you and get on your hands damn it!

Which of course brings me to my next thought provoking question, if we can put men on the moon, build rockets and talk to each other via video screen (seriously, how the heck does that one work?), why oh why can’t someone create a diaper that doesn’t leak?! Is it too much to ask to have what is supposed to stay inside there, stay inside? I realize this is not a top priority for governments near and far, but it darn well should be. It’s certainly not like roses and cookie dough come out their backside, this is some heavily hazardous material.

The other thing that amazes me is how the sight of a baby’s ‘output’ shall we say politely, can render a grown man into a gagging hysterical lunatic. Truly, I have never seen my partner run faster than when the King serves up one of his mighty deliveries. In fact, now when I need him to get a move on, I just tell him our son has done a number two and suddenly he is off to get dressed, clean the house, and take the trash out, all to escape the act of dealing with the King’s behind.

The sobering fact is that I have roughly another 365 days of changing diapers. That is one long road ahead of me filled with unwanted surprises. And I thought changing the printer cartridge on the copy machine at my old office was a messy endeavor.  I’m thinking this current job should really pay better. :-)
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