I was sitting here thinking how my sweet little baby is one month old today! One month old - I swear it was yesterday that I was muttering obscenities at how long the anesthesiologist was taking to stick that needle in my back. I use the term muttering a little loosely - I am pretty sure he and the entire floor heard me, but hey, what can you do?
Anywho, one month has passed and was I getting a little sad about this - I mean, everyone says they grow up so fast but you have got to be kidding me! I haven't come to terms with the fact that he is here, and that I am a mother, and he is already a month old. I haven't had enough time to document this very important first month. I had big plans of quiet afternoons writing in his baby book, sending baby announcements, and taking sweet pictures of every gas induced smile and itty bitty stretch. But instead, we have done four thousand loads of laundry, changed ten thousand diapers, fixed and fed one thousand bottles (and that's just in the last week), and well, taken more than a few cuddle naps on the couch but who's counting those?
But as I started to freak out about the lack of documentation of my child's life, I glanced down at my still present baby bump (not sure you can still call it that but it sounds better than my very jiggly and large gut) and realized there was baby crap all over me. How do you not notice that you have yellow baby poop all over the front of your shirt?
I'll tell you how - its because this seven some odd pound little tyke has more bodily movements than an entire daycare with the stomach bug. And more often than not, they seem to end up all over me. Take last Friday for example:
I woke up and began the morning as usual - with a warm bottle for Wyatt and a hot coffee for me. This was soon interrupted by Wyatt's usual freight train noises which signaled yet another diaper change was imminent. I then felt a warm sensation spreading through my stomach - not like that warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you see a puppy. It was a more of a warm, wet, sick feeling that I soon confirmed was baby poop. It was seeping up Wyatt's back and down into my lap. As I tried not to gag I took the bottle out of his mouth thinking, "crap - literally - now I have to change him and his outfit and myself. And before I even have a sip of coffee." Well let me tell you what - my fat, fatty Mcfatterson would rather wallow in his own excrement than stop eating. The screams that ensued were absolutely enough to break your heart. So what is a mother to do? Let him cry it out, clean him up, and then resume breakfast? Probably. But, not me, oh no. It was just easier to let hm finish the bottle so I put it back in his mouth and sat there, both of us covered in crap and thought, "really is this what my life has come to?" The answer is clearly yes.
You are probably thinking that this is disgusting - but it gets even better. That afternoon, with the car loaded up, ready to go, I went to change his diaper yet again. I had him butt naked, scrounging around for a diaper, when I notice he had quit screaming. I stood up to check that he was still breathing, he looked at me with this evil baby smile and then BAM - the kid starts peeing EVERYWHERE. The wall, the changing table, the carpet, the side table that is basically across the room: EVERYTHING is soaked in pee. I mean it was waiving around like he was aiming at the various piece of furniture in the room. Kind of reminded me of that game at the fair with the water guns where you aim at all the different objects. Except his water gun is filled with urine, and its aimed at my face. And all I can do with my killer motherly instincts is stand there screaming.
Thank God the kid wasn't touching a hot stove because my reaction time was terrible. Absolutely awful. But I eventually thought to put the diaper I was holding in my hand over his little wee wee. And after a moment, just like in that commercial, I went to move the diaper to change him and BAM BAM - he starts up again. I swear he looked at me and winked. And laughed under his breath. By this time I had yelled enough that Robby had come to help because I am obviously incompetent in the diaper changing category. Now we are both standing in the middle of the nursery, soaked in baby pee, and all we can do is laugh. Because at this point, what else can you do?
And then, as I put diaper number three on Wyatt, I notice he is now peeing out the back of the diaper. Not really sure how this is possible but, seriously folks, there is pee in his hair, pee in my hair, pee all over the changing table, and we are using diaper number FOUR. In less than ten minutes.
And suddenly, a month doesn't seem like such a short period of time after all. I mean a short month ago, if you had asked me had I ever just hung out covered in someone else's pee or poop, or vomit for that matter, I would have gagged a little and said absolutely not. And now, I have done all of the above - multiple times.. And while I would prefer to not make a habit of it, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Of course, if it does become a daily occurrence, I may start changing diapers in a poncho.
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