I’m over this diaper thing

Aside from sleeping or not sleeping like she’s out for revenge, Baby Bop is in a delightful stage. She’s chill. Or at least compared to Baby Bop of 6 months ago. She’ll let me out of her eyesight without assuming I’ve abandoned her forever.

She’s often happy to play by herself and even understands when I tell her to. She still has her clingy moments, but the minute she has a dirty diaper she is hard to find. I smell her across the room and I say,

“Do I smell poopies?”

Yes, these are the quality conversations we have. Baby Bop looks at me in consternation. She does not want to leave her toys to go change her diaper. I’d be happy to let her keep playing in her poop if it weren’t for diaper rashes.

I say,

“Diappie time!”

Baby Bop looks at me and declares,

“Mommy wash dishes. Baby Bop play.”

In other words she just asked me to leave her alone. And boy do I wish I could!

A few days later I smell poop and she tries again. She points at my computer,

“Mommy work. Baby bop play.”

She hasn’t learned the word “blog” yet.

And best/worst of all is she has turned into a parrot. I heard and smelled something funny, so I tell her,

“I need to check your diaper.”

“A peek?”

“Yup, going to take a peek.” There’s a small streak and without thinking I say,

“Just a juicy fart.”

Baby Bop prances off singing,

“Juicy fart, juicy fart!”

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When you’re waiting for the doctor, but you really want to wear your new shoes.

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Bummin around

I’m not worried about germs. I wash my hands, but that didn’t really take off until I was an adult.

If something drops on the floor/ground/wherever gravity takes it, I’ll still eat it or give it back to Baby Bop.

When she was a newborn, I was hyper vigilant, but then Baby Bop became obsessed with shoes. One day she had Captain’s work shoe in her mouth, he says,

“Nothing like chewing on the laces that were dragging around the mens’ urinal today.”

Gross. But the dog is licking his butt and licking her face, why should I be worried about shoes?

Now Baby Bop has a bad case of the runs. No big deal except her butt doesn’t agree. It’s super red and sore. So sore that she cries when I hold her on my hip. That’s breaking my heart.

The doctor suggests some diaper free time. This is great in theory. We did lots of diaper free time when Baby Bop was 4 months old and liked to lie in one place / couldn’t move if she wanted to. Now if I put my fitbit on Baby Bop, she’d clock the daily 10,000 steps before morning snack. The idea of doing that diaperless is perplexing.

We give it a go. Seeing Baby Bop’s butt bouncing around the house is super cute. She squats down to pick up a toy. First round of poop on the rug. We clean up and resume.

Then it’s a big puddle of pee in the kitchen. I dash for a towel, but Booker gets there first and laps it all up. Gross, but super helpful.

Then it’s another big slop of poop in the kitchen. This is all within 30 minutes. Before I know what’s happening, Booker eats it all. As long as he doesn’t throw up later, this is perfect.

I find another stray pile of poop and point it out to Booker. Special treat for doggies!

Baby Bop poops on one of her toys. Booker to the rescue. Captain looks like he’s going to faint. He tells Booker,

“You better not kiss me later.”

We start chatting about our anniversary and the weekend we met. I didn’t know there could be any new details we hadn’t talked about. Captain says,

“I remember I was drinking a water. I asked you if I could get you a drink and you said water would be good. I was going to go get you one, but you said you’d just drink mine.”

“I don’t remember this at all.”

“I thought, who is this woman who drinks other people’s drinks?”

“Never mind that I was hoping to make out with you.”

“You were?!”

“Are you kidding?”

Here we are. Wedded bliss. Watching our dog eat our daughter’s diarrhea.

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Now I understand why moms think it’s okay to lick their finger and wipe something off of their kid’s face

Bodily fluids. There are a lot and Baby Bop and I are sharing them all.

She gives me saliva. I give her milk. She gives me spit up and dirty diapers. I give her a bath. Sometimes I take a shower.

When I was pregnant, I figured I’d be so grossed out by spit up that I’d be changing my shirt on the reg. Not only do I not change it on the reg, I probably wear it longer than I would a clean shirt. Why put on a clean shirt when it’s going to get more spit up on it in 5 minutes?

The other day the pediatrician looks at Baby Bop’s bottom and declares,

“Her diaper rash is a yeast infection.”

She prescribes butt cream and sends us on our way. I tell Captain. He jokes,

“Baby Bop has jock itch.”

Yup. And it turns out that Mommy has jock itch on her nipples. Which means Baby Bop may have jock itch in her mouth. Yes I’m referring to myself as mommy. I talk to Baby Bop about myself in the third person all the time,

“Who loves the baby? Mommy loves the baby.”

I have no idea why. It just happens. Maybe this is how she learns my name.

The nurse offers advice for saving my nipples,

“If you can, get some sun on them.”

I would love to relax at a topless beach right now. How do I make that happen?

As I continue to care for Baby Bop’s bottom better than I’ve ever cared for mine, I bend close to examine the rash. This is a terrible idea. Captain tells me,

“I never get that close.”

Yes. That’s sensible. So I’m down there, with my nose inches away from the cutest little butt I’ve ever seen, and SPURT. Projectile poop shoots straight up my nose. Not on my cheek. Up my nose.

What surprised me the most was that I wasn’t grossed out. I was just annoyed that I had another mess to clean up.

And some messes do require a clean shirt:

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