Repulsed.

Before I start, I have a picture that would go PERFECTLY with this sickening post, but because my daughter will one day have a significant other, I will refrain from using it.

I hate for this blog to focus so much attention on diapers and the bathroom, but as I swore to myself before I started that I would be as honest as possible, I’m going to be as honest as possible. Yesterday, after a fresh bath that made my daughter smell like perfection, I put her in her “magic chair”. We call it that because it looks like some sort of acid induced hallucination. There are bunnies and trees and shapes and if you pull a lever a loud version of “If you’re happy and you know it” plays on repeat. When turned on, the chair buzzes and rattles around. To me it looks like a terrifying nightmare of a place to sit, but for some reason, our daughter gets in it and is MESMERIZED. Anyhow, I put this delicious fresh smelling baby who’s wearing a new adorable purple owl outfit into her chair, turn on the buzz and watch as her face fluctuates from glee to curiosity back to glee and then a lot of giggling. I congratulate myself on a job well done and go back to my computer to try and get some work done. And then I hear it. A sound like no other. A sound that can be nothing but what it is. It’s loud and it does not sound dry. I look over at our daughter. She coos preciously and lets out a gratified “sigh”. Meanwhile, the chair continues buzzing and rattling and shaking. I know my fate before I even pick her up. The contents of her diaper have been buzzed and rattled and shaken for the past thirty seconds or more. The contents, therefore, are no longer in her diaper and my delicious smelling owl-clad baby is now covered head to foot in poop. 

I remove her from the chair-which at this point I have started screaming at and kicking-and carry her like a potentially detonatable bomb into the changing room. A decision must be made here. Do I put her down (in her current state) on the changing table, therefore soiling the table, the changing cover and, frankly, my hands? Or do I just say F&#k it and put the whole baby, owls and all into the tub? I went for it. I put her down on the changing table and watched helplessly as the diaper contents touched the beautiful white cover. I peeled the onesie off and over her head with the precision of the guy in the “Hurt Locker” so as to prevent any “content” from smearing on her face. I got the clothes off and looked down at my patient. She looked up at me and smiled. The diaper was a joke. I mean seriously, I might as well have put nothing there. It’s literally spilling over onto her stomach and back. I remove the diaper, throw it in the genie and just don’t allow myself to think about how disgusting that was, and I carry her (again like detonated bomb-but a naked bomb) into the bath to rid her of all that just happened. After I finished bathing her, she smelled again like a perfect bundle of baby. A few thoughts on the incident before I go:

1. Why oh WHY do they make onesies the way they do? Like why doesn’t Carter’s just go ahead and make an iron clad straight jacket to put on the baby? It’s not like, I don’t know, you have to take it off whenever a diaper needs changing; it’s not like the thing won’t inevitably be covered in poo or pee or spit up. The only way to get it off is over the head and going that route almost ensures said contents will fall on the babies face. Ridiculous.

2. Before we had babies, several of my friends were all “I’m not grossed out at ALL by my babies poops. I mean I find it really beautiful because I know exactly what she’s eating and so it isn’t gross.” Lies. Lies. Lies and a lot more lies. It’s disgusting. It smells, it has a funky texture and although I know EXACTLY what she/he eats everyday, I am unfamiliar with the monstrosity that emerges from his/her nether regions several hours later. 

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