The adventures with my daughter and her bowel movements continue...And along with it, another incident of poetic justice plays out in my case of against doing the really "dirty" diapers. I have always had a knack of really "bringing it out" of them, but yesterday really takes the cake, or should I say "custard pie" - at least to date.
It all started as an innocent, mid-morning feeding on Saturday where I happened to have Cate this go 'round. Well, after a relatively smooth feeding I sensed that she had a wet diaper that needed to be changed. So since we were headed to the mall soon to spend a rainy afternoon, I figured I'd go ahead and get the diaper, along with with a wardrobe change, out of the way so we could be fairly ready to go - at least with one of them.
Well after picking out an outfit and getting the changing essentials laid out on the table (new diaper and fresh wipe), I begin to undress her. For those not familiar (can't remember if I've mentioned this on here before), Cate loves to be changed, better yet, she loves to be naked. As much as she likes to throw her feet in the air normally, multiply that several times over when she is unencumbered by clothing or diapers. I firmly believe she would lay there contently most the day if we let her - at this stage there isn't much danger in it since she still hasn't shown a remote interest in rolling over or anything close.
As I take off her diaper I discover a surprise - a small, green turdlet. Ok, no problem, I've seen worse, I can easily handle this. So I use the old diaper, still partially on her, to grab the turdlet and some other "debris". Since I assumed that was the end of it I didn't bother reaching for my diaper changing essentials - Vicks vapor rub under the nostrils and my mask sprayed with cologne - big mistake! (although, with what was about to transpire I can say with certainty that my defenses wouldn't have made much difference).
So after I wipe her down and am about to slide the new diaper in place, I hear a quick release of air/gas and look down to find my daughter basically churning out a strand of olive green poop. Her anus basically became like a play-doh spaghetti factory, where I, "the baker", had a hard time keeping up (and putting up) with the level of output. At first I just started reaching for wipe after wipe, but those weren't thick enough or big enough. So then I reached for a burp cloth nearby, but by this point my reactive instincts were wearing off and my gag refluxes were starting to take over. Finding myself stuck between a proverbial rock and a hard place, I did what most men in this situation would do - I start calling to her mother to come relieve me, pronto! All along I had been giving Catherine a play-by-play, but by this point it had turned from a comical recount to one of desperation and panic.
But what tore me up the most with this whole ordeal was that with all the fuss I was making by turning away and yelling over my shoulder saying things like “Oh my god, so gross!” or “Get me out of here!”, I look down at Cate and the look on her face has gone from a wry smile of relief and amusement to a whimper of shame and embarrassment. It was as if she was looking back up at me now asking, "Daddy, what's wrong, am I being bad? Do you no longer find me adorable, am I disgusting you now? I can't help it." So once Catherine came to the relief, I let her take care our daughter's bottom half while I restored the top half of our little, uncontrollably pooping angel.
After Cate's confidence was restored I had to quickly vacate the room and let mom handle the rest of the cleanup duty. Not only did Catherine have to deal with the aftermath of my disaster, but Cate continued to crank it out, filling up another diaper and requiring countless more wipes. Little did we know that this was a sign of things to come with her for the rest of the afternoon...While at the mall, Cate had to be changed for this same reason not once but twice, and thus set a couple of milestones in the process - first use of the Koala Kare public changing stations and most number of times (5) going poop in a 24 hr period.
This actually isn't the first time she gone on me while on the changing table, but the other times she just wet herself - and the changing table, and her outfit, and the fresh diaper I had laid out. But the problem is, when she does this you don't really know it's happening until you feel the results. See the thing is, with her - how should I say - rather healthy amount of skin combined with the design of the female anatomy, when she relieves herself there are a lot of creases and channels for the urine to run down out of....therefore, when she goes on you, you never see a geyser like with him, you just slowly start to see and feel the results as it trickles out of all the aforementioned crevasses. On more than one occasion, while changing her I've gone to slide her diaper underneath her and felt some wetness, but since I didn't see anything that would lead me to think otherwise, I just thought it was sweat (especially when after waking her up from a nap)...However, the smell of urine finally hits me and I realize what all has just transpired.
Later, as I retold and relived the story to my mother, she asked what I would have done if Catherine was not there? Hmmm, good point, the thought of this happening hadn’t really occurred to me before. Obviously I hadn't experienced anything like this before, and not that I thought I wouldn't be faced with this reality of fatherhood, but it was so quick and surreal it started me a bit. What I told her at the time, is what I think really would be my best contingency plan - I probably would carry her (under her arms and away from my body) into the bathroom, dip her bottom half in the toilet and hit flush. It would basically be like giving her a reverse swirly (fyi, I swirly is when you push a drunk person already getting sick's head in the toilet and flush it).
