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I have what I would describe as a hair-trigger gag reflex, no foolin'. It's not like I vomit every time I'm set off, it's more akin to a dry heave combined with a choking cough. I typically turn my head to the side arch my back in a retching motion, as tears well up in my eyes. These gag bouts are usually short but intense. This affliction puts me at a severe disadvantage as a new father. The first two months of my children's lives has been full of one bodily fluid or another. The palette of these glorious liquid expulsions is primarily full of earth tones, however the spectrum of textures is wide & varied.
I've learned that I don't really care for changing diaper's. I realize that's not a profound statement. However, I bet some people probably genuinely enjoy the diaper changing experience. Though, for the life of me I can't imagine why; they probably fool themselves into thinking that they are somehow fully embracing parenthood by their love of diaper changing.
My first go at diaper changing was while we were still in the hospital. At an astounding 37 minutes, I don't think I broke any records. I approached the task before me in the same manner the Ghostbusters approached a haunted house. Equipped with a face mask, rubber gloves, gown, shield, and helmet, I was equally prepared to change a diaper or remove a bomb from a government building as a part of an elite bomb squad.
For the first couple of weeks of a newborn's life, their poo...let's just pause right here. I hate the words poo & poopy or any likeness thereof. Right now I use the phrase "poopy diaper" at least once a day. It's so childish, I feel foolish when I hear the words escape my mouth. With no end in sight, sentences like "do you have to go poopy?" will soon become a part of my everyday vocabulary as the children grow and need to be potty trained. There's another word that sounds silly - potty. I would like to replace poo and poopy with crap or even turdy. Apparently these words are considered socially taboo. Likewise the phrases "Do you have to rock the deuce?", "drop a duke", or "release the hounds" are considered inappropriate for parents of infants; however I would feel less ridiculous if I could speak to my children in such terms. That being said...
The first couple of weeks of a newborn's life their "deuce juice" is this weird black tar like substance that is small and has no odor. As such, that first diaper change in the hospital was much less traumatic then I imagined it would be. Unfortunately, I still have no excuse for the inordinate length of time I took to change the diaper. My wife and the nurses made diaper changing look like one of those rodeo competitions where the cowboys use a lasso to tie up a calf, "We have a new world record in the diaper change with 8 seconds by Jami Cecil" said the southern drawn voice in my head every time Jami changed a baby.
I mentioned the varied textures of baby poop before, let me elaborate. We start off as I said with a black tar like substance, we move into a mustard color with what looks like seeds, from there we move into a cottage cheese type substance with a burnt sepia tone, that brings us to the current mocha tinged splatters. An added bonus to the mocha splatters is their aroma, one might assume that the fragrance of the diapers would match the mocha-like hue of the child's scat. However, instead of pleasant Starbucks esspresso notes, the diaper's bouquet is full of a mixture of sulfur and Indian curry. Let the gagging begin.
A few weeks ago, as I had just gotten over my poopy diaper aversions, I went to the floor to change E's drawers. It was the first diaper of his that was truly disgusting, in both odor and aesthetics. As I lifted up his legs to survey the damage, the smell of methane hung heavy in the air, while the spray pattern of the poo looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. As the smell of the poo wafted up towards my nostrils and my eyes took in the mess before me, my gag reflex was awakened. I began to make funny noises like a badger stuck in fur trap, my back curled up and I turned my head to the side. I looked to Jami for help. Laughing diabolically, she seemed more interested in watching the comedic situation play out in front of her.
In a feat that cemented a theory that I have long held (my children are in cohoots with their mother to play tricks on me and force me into uncomfortable situations for their own entertainment) E decided to exacerbate my gagging fit; he kicked me when I was down, he added insult to injury, he poured salt into the wound...he peed on me. My son whom I love gave me the Golden Shower.
I yelled for help. Jami guffawed, clearly enjoying the hysterics. My son looked up at me with a smirk. My daughter's face contorted as she worked a special "gift" into her diaper for dear 'ol dad.
Diaper changing has become easier, I've managed to trim a good 18 minutes off of my average time. Jami and I had a race a few days ago, she's still much faster. On a bright note, I haven't had a gagging episode in two weeks. I think I'm finally settling in and getting used to the whole poopy diaper thing. However, I will have my revenge...oh yes, I will have my revenge. Eventually I will be an old man who is unable to adequately control his bowels, that will be the day my children will be forced to change my diaper. I have many years to concoct my dastardly plot, so laugh it up kids...your time is coming.
