Thursday, May 24, 2012

The Pee-pee Teepee Gets its Revenge

Two nights ago while we she was changing our son on the couch Mrs. Blackwell asked me to grab something for her. 

What that something was I can't remember, and I suppose it doesn't matter; at that point I was engaged, part of the process.

So I handed whatever that something was to my wife and watched her continue on her merry way, as is her custom with all things pertaining to our child. 

Pictured: My former self satisfaction with my
diaper changing proficiency.
I shouldn't fail to mention here that, throughout the entire changing process our son cries bloody murder. These shrill squawks and squeals  are accompanied by reflex-fast kicks of both of his legs and arms. Naturally, this frequently sets back our progress with his changing. So, we reset the diaper, apply more butt cream and begin anew. And the unholy shrieking provides the soundtrack. 

So, I admired Mrs. Blackwell as she smiled and did her work with our little guy. It was an interesting scene, him screaming, squirming and turning red and her patiently smiling.

We've changed plenty of diapers now and I don't mind the work. It's all part of being a dad and a task I was beginning to believe I was pretty good at. Earlier this week I changed a diaper and did it with such dexterity and deftness that he stayed asleep through the entire process. 

No crying and a fresh baby bottom with a clean diaper? These are indeed victories in The World of New Fatherdom. Since that time both Mrs. Blackwell and I have accomplished the feat again.

With crying a part of nearly every changing process it was quite surprising that, as Mrs. Blackwell was mid change, he just stopped. The jackhammer of wails, gasps and screams was there and then it was gone. Just like that. 


No sooner did I wonder if we'd crossed some sort of threshold and left crying during changes behind us, than did I get my answer.

I rue the day I ever made fun of you PeePee Teepee.
Pee    lots of it    began to rise forth in a perfect fountain, above my son, above his clean diaper, above the changing cloth and above our couch (a possession I love dearly).

My wife, who is typically the picture of calm was caught between the competing reflexes to run away but to also hold onto the baby. 

So, she screamed a little bit and I just did what I knew I needed to do. For me, for my wife and for our couch    I put my hand over him and capped the warm flow. As the upward stream continued, I reminded myself, it's for the couch and it's just pee. And it is, just pee; I know. There are worse things that we'll soon see. But, for now this was an initiation of sorts and a humbling one at that.

It was my son's answer to anything approaching the assertion that we are going to master even the most mundane tasks with regard to him. 

"You think you've got diaper changes figured out Mom and Dad?  Think again."

Round One goes to you son.

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