My feelings of shame and sadness for our country are overwhelming. It’s horrifying that the president is giving racism and white supremacy even more power. I used to have no negative feelings about tiki torches. Can’t say that anymore.
So that’s poopy.
The other thing that’s poopy are Baby Bop’s diapers. Gross. I know this is the foreseeable future, but still, gross. And it would be one thing if Baby Bop were cooperative. She’s not.
I understand. If someone were poking and prodding around my privates, I’d be like “what the heck?” And of course I’d try to get my hand down there too. But once there is poop on Baby Bop’s hand, there will be poop on the wall, all over her body and in her mouth. GROSS.
When I don’t let her do that, she screams, kicks and makes me wish I’d just let her have a mouthful of poop.
At our most recent pediatrician visit the doctor reminds me,
“You still need to be doing the q-tip with vaseline between her labia.”
Ok. I hear you, but at what point in the screaming, leg kicking, poop grabbing diapering event is that supposed to happen?
So far I’m sticking to my plan of old diaper off, new diaper on. Fastest to the finish wins. We’ll worry about the labia later.
During diaper changes I hand her any variety of items with the hope it’ll keep her hands occupied long enough for me to remove all the poop. Every item goes flying.
The other day I get a big whiff of poopies. I tell Baby Bop,
I pick her up and she holds on tight to the board book she’s enjoying. I plunk her down on the changing table. As anyone who has ever read a hardcover book knows, it’s challenging to do it lying down. Baby Bop manages fine. She opens it to the page of a dog.
She turns to a different page. It’s a bear.
She turns to another page. A penguin.
I’m finishing up and she’s still occupied with the book. I have no idea why I didn’t think to offer a book on the changing table sooner. Especially considering I’m the queen of reading in the bathroom.
I’m open to challengers, but I have always enjoyed spending an hour or more reading on the toilet. When I was a kid and supposed to be asleep, I thought I was fooling my parents. Now that I’m a parent, it’s easy to see that it takes more than that to fool them.
I still hole up in the bathroom for an exorbitant amount of time. I can’t really explain it. It’s not super comfortable. One or both legs often fall asleep. I just shake them out and keep reading.
After many more successful diaper changes while Baby Bop reads her books, I recount my discovery to Captain. He declares,
“Must be a case of nature over nurture.”