This post also appeared on www.capecodonline.com/blogs in the opinion section of the Cape Cod Times, a division of Ottaway Newspapers, Inc.
Maybe it’s the reporter instinct in me to suspect the worst of everyone, but I believe my baby boy is toying with me.
It usually happens about 20-30 minutes after he eats. I’ll be holding him and he’ll get this look on his face. He’ll purse his lips and grunt and turn bright cherry red. I’d like to believe he’s thinking hard of a solution to global warming, but as his father I know that face means he’s simply taking a massive dump. And sure enough, as I’m holding him I feel him erupting into his diaper with the force of Mount St. Helen.
When I get to the changing table and open his diaper I’m greeted with the unmistakable sight and sound of baby excrement. And so I begin my fatherly process. I undo the diaper and assess the damage, but I temporarily leave it on him so I can shield myself from a potentially damaging stream of urine. Once I’m satisfied that I’m safe, I quickly discard the used diaper and place the new one underneath him, again shielding myself from his pee. Then I take the wipes and make sure he’s clean down there, and rub some A&D ointment to prevent diaper rash. Then I wrap him up, wash my hands and we’re good to go.
That’s how things should go. But my devilish son likes to play with my head at times.
He especially likes to do this when I’m groggy at 3 am and not on my A game. First I’ll forget to shield myself and when I let my guard down, he never fails to pee on me, himself and even the blinds and window. The kid’s got good distance. Then, when I put the new diaper underneath him and start wiping him clean, he poops on me. Right as I’m trying to clean him, he decides to let loose on me. So I throw that diaper away and put another one down. Not to be outdone, Will reaches deep within himself and proceeds to crap again on the third diaper. So I get a fourth one out, wipe him down again, and mercifully I’m done.
But I swear to God that last night, he smiled at the same time he soiled his third diaper. It was a subtle, fleeting smirk but I’m sure he was taunting me. Just a little something to remind me who is in charge now. As if the shrill wake up calls he gives us every other hour weren’t enough.
And to think I used to cringe when I had to pick up dog poop. Now I’m getting pooped on directly by a baby who I suspect is deliberately attempting to drive me insane. He’s a clever little bugger but I think I can take him.