Sunday, April 21st, 2013
Okay, I’ve written about how
hyperactive my boy is. But now he’s taking it to a whole new level. The ceiling. Well, not quite.
I lift weights. I lift babies. I do yoga. I have strong arms and sort of a strong core…at least it’s getting there. I’m almost a hundred pounds more than Emmett. And at least three feet taller. So how is it that he is beating me in a race against poop? And why is it only me? Not his babysitter or his dad?
When I go to change his diaper, particularly when it’s poop, I go armed with toys. I get everything I need right next to me and then the boom, the race is on. Or off I should say… with the diaper.
He starts to scream and move and twist and turn while poop is hanging off of him. At times I find him dangling upside down as I hunch forward holding him by one leg, shouting “Emmett–NO!” He screams like he’s being waterboarded.
At least once a day I get it smeared on me. How’s that for disgusting? If Fia is home, I have her try and hold down his arms while I change him. She joyfully joins in on the “Emmett NO!” chant. She loves nothing more than having the upper hand. Or at least thinking she does–as feces go flying. It’s a race against the shit clock. No shit.
He is 15 months. I swear if I thought he (or I) could handle it, I would potty train him now. But I fear he’d just crap all over the house and himself. With glee.
No parent should want to take Xanax or drink before changing a diaper. It shouldn’t be this hard.
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