Posts Tagged ‘ changing diapers ’

Lost In Translation: “I Want Jesus To Change My Diaper!”

Monday, February 18th, 2013

2 years, 3 months.

Dear Jack,

You can speak; and I’m not referring to a selection of the most necessary phrases to get through life as a 2 year-old. I mean that Mommy and I can carry on an actual conversation with you and you understand what we are asking or telling you.

Yes, you can participate in legitimate conversations now. Granted, there are some limitations; some concepts are just too complex for you to make much sense of right now.

I’ve been telling you how, here lately, you’ve been really picky about which roles Mommy and I can do. As I mentioned, I am now your wardrobe assistant/technician, whereas that used to be Mommy’s job.

This past Saturday the three of us were so busy playing in your bedroom, swinging the shaggy bolster pillow at each other and pretending that your Thor play tent was a ship on the stormy sea, that a couple of hours passed before we realized your diaper was pretty wet.

So we asked you, “Jack, who do you want to change your diaper, Mommy or Daddy?”

Your instant response: “Jesus!” The look on your face was completely serious.

It caught me so off guard, I hesitated as I attempted to answer you:

“Well… uh… Jesus can watch… but it needs to be either Mommy or me who changes your diaper today.”

You stood your ground:

“I want Jesus! I want Jesus to change my diaper!”

Thinking back now, I can’t even remember whether it was Mommy or me who actually changed your diaper. I just know it’s a very bizarre thing to think about. I mean, how do I explain to you why Jesus can’t change your diaper?

That’s a tough one for a 2 year-old to process.

I started thinking about how Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine. Then I started seriously thinking about whether any of His unrecorded miracles included changing toddlers’ diapers. You really got me thinking, kid.

This is only the beginning. You are going to be saying some pretty hilarious things without trying, as you’re new to this “real conversation” concept.

I will be here to help you as you get lost in translation. I will try to help you, at least.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

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Why Changing Dirty Diapers Is Like Making PB & J Sandwiches

Sunday, January 13th, 2013

2 years, 1 month.

Dear Jack,

No, don’t get ahead of me on this one. I’m not implying that a peanut butter and jelly sandwich looks like a dirty diaper, in any way. Good guess, though.

This past weekend I changed one of your dirty diapers. Oddly enough, it’s been a while. Somehow with the timing of things, it’s rarely me that has that privilege.

Instead, it’s either one of your teachers at daycare, or Mommy, or a teacher in your class at church, but rarely me.

It’s not that I’m avoiding your dirty diapers.

After all, I of all people, a Generation Y daddy blogger, am very aware of the classic stereotype that dads are grossed out by changing their kid’s dirty diaper.

The thing is, I don’t mind changing your diapers. It’s my job and responsibility, and I take pride in it. Honestly, for any ad or commercial to portray a dad making a slight dramatic fuss over it is a tad offensive to me. I’m your dad, not a joke targeted at women to help sell diapers, dinner, or laundry detergent.

Sure, I admit that changing a dirty diaper isn’t necessarily fun. But my least favorite part of it isn’t actually the smell.

To be more candid than I should be, I’m used to the smell… aside from you.

The annoying thing about changing a dirty diaper is the process; which is the same reason making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is a chore.

There are so many steps involved…

Get a clean diaper, predict the number of Wet Wipes it will take, get them out of the container in advance, find a good spot to change your diaper, give you a toy to distract you while I change your diaper, don’t get the mess on me or the floor or your clean diaper, put dirty diaper in a plastic disposable bag, throw away the dirty diaper outside, wash my hands…

Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is nearly just as bad:

Get out the bread, peanut butter, jelly, a butter knife, and a napkin to the place the sandwich on top of; then spread on the peanut butter, then wash the knife, then the jelly, then place the two sides together and clean the knife again.

It’s a very lengthy ordeal!

In fact, now that I think of it, I’m starting to wonder which really is worse: Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or changing a dirty diaper.

Well, at the least with the sandwich, I get to eat it afterwards. So yes, changing a dirty diaper is worse, but only slightly.

 

Love,

Daddy

 

Top photo: A peanut butter and jelly sandwich open faced on a blue plate, Shutterstock.

Bottom photo: Baby care room sign, Shutterstock.

 

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Jack’s First Time to Church

Wednesday, January 5th, 2011

Week 7.

Something I had always been acutely aware of is that when two people have a baby, there’s a good solid 6 weeks that go by where you stop seeing them in public.  But shortly after that, the couple begins to dare to make random public appearances.  Like last week, we attempted to take Jack with us to buy groceries. Really, there’s no need for me to paint the details of that story; if you can imagine it, that’s what happened.  Therefore, today I went alone to buy groceries.  It took just as long being that I’m a guy and we, the male species, don’t have instincts to tell us things like where to find vanilla extract or even at our own house where the cutting boards go in the kitchen.

But with me still not having a job yet and with the cold winter weather, the three of us have spent a lot of time indoors.  Now I know what it’s like to be a 29 year-old retired millionaire who gets to stay at home all day in his pajamas and eat cereal for lunch.  Minus the million dollars and plus the need to actually make a living.  So after a month of constantly looking online for jobs and applying, and taking care of Jack, and watching random documentaries instantly on Netflix through the Wii, we decided we were brave enough to take Jack to church for the first time; out of the womb.

Of course, despite giving ourselves plenty of time to get there early, Jack decided he wanted one last snack of milk right as we were heading out the door.  Then we had to change his diaper.  So we arrived 10 minutes late and the only place left to sit was up in the balcony.  This turned out to be a pretty good location though; since we were right next to the door for the moment he would inevitably start crying.  He lasted 35 minutes before we had to dart for the door with him.  We were impressed.

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A Baby’s Sixth Sense

Thursday, December 30th, 2010

Week 6.

It’s a sort of eery feeling getting up at 1:30 AM, 3:30 AM, and/or 5:30 AM every morning to feed and change Jack.  While it’s still dark and quiet, while I’m only “awake” enough to put the word in quotation marks, and while my memory barely records the routine actions taking place during the twilight, I’m sure I’m subconsciously looking for something out of the ordinary.  As I hold Jack in one arm and his bottle in the other, the dimly lit room casts a strange shadow on his face.  Sometimes when I look at him during this time I get a little creeped out.  In this situation he reminds me of a baby version of the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz (played by the Jewish actor Bert Lahr); that movie and the original Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, though they are both wonderful classic movies, have always freaked me out a bit.  On a similar note, it also seems like I’m taking care of a little old man, with his receding hairstyle (Jack Nicholson style), his chubby cheeks, and his baby-version-of-cussing-somebody-out cries when he’s really hungry and his diaper is wet.

To make matters more theatrical, there are times when I am taking care of him during the middle of the night when it’s like he peeks around my shoulder and sees something and gets this calm yet curious look on his face. Does he see something?  A guardian angel?  Jesus?  Maybe the ghost of Bert Lahr?

I wouldn’t be surprised if babies can see into the spiritual realm.  It could make sense in a way; babies are completely innocent.  They are unaware of damning traps like pride and greed.  I could see how a baby is naturally closer to Heaven than we adults are.  Sometimes I envy the things my baby may be seeing.  But then again, it would be just another thing to spook me in the middle of the night. It seems every account I can immediately think of in the Bible where an angelic being spoke to a human, the angel always had to start the conversation out with “Do not be afraid…”  But Jack isn’t scared by whatever he is seeing around me that I am less aware; if he’s actually seeing anything supernatural at all.

Bert Lahr as The Cowardly Lion:

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Diaper Duty and Sleeping Arrangements

Saturday, December 11th, 2010

Week 3.

Men aren’t supposed to like changing diapers.  And I suppose no one truly likes changing diapers, but something I have learned in these 3 and a half weeks so far is that it’s really not that bad right now.  He’s still in the “yellow, seedy poop” stage.  So I can’t honestly say that the smell is difficult to deal with.  The hardest part about changing his diapers is taking off his clothes and putting them back on.

The way I look at it, despite all that my wife does for not only our son but for us as well, if there’s one thing I can do efficiently, it’s to change his diapers.  Granted, as much as my parents and sister and her husband have helped out as well, it’s not like I’m changing the majority of his diapers anyway.  But if nothing else, I have learned that a dirty diaper is not something I fear or have any valid reason to avoid.  Though I do prefer it when he’s wearing a onesie: easy access.

In theory, Jack would spend the majority of his sleeping hours in his nice crib.  But in reality, during the day he sleeps wherever he ends up falling asleep.  Sometimes it’s his sock monkey bed, sometimes it’s the papason chair, and sometimes it’s somebody’s arms.  It’s funny how it’s an infant’s full time job to sleep.  When he wakes up, Jack typically goes through a 15 minute stretching ordeal.  I love how he is essentially exhausted from sleeping all the time.

I have always secretly wanted a fur coat- the chic yet manly kind like Rocky Balboa had.  That appears to be in the genes as Jack loves to be wrapped up in the finest, softest materials.  Jack lives such a glorious, pampered life.  He has an appreciation for the finer things in life.  But he also isn’t above loudly passing gas when people hold him.  That’s good- it shows he’s culturally balanced.

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