My Life in Diapers
The Poo Diaries
Confessions of a Diaper Changer
The Blow Out Blog
If you're not a mom or you have a weak stomach, you might just want to stop reading now.
I thought I had that daughter. The daughter that in her life as an infant maybe had five blow outs. Literally, I think I could count them on one hand. I thought I was sooooooo lucky. Diapers were a breeze.
Things have changed.
For the past few weeks, I think I change on average, five to seven blown out diapers weekly. And these diapers aren't just bad diapers. They are the worst diapers I have ever seen. Not only is the diaper completely soaked in poo, but her pants, shirts, socks, and anything else she's wearing are covered as well.
The other day, I suspected a blow out, took her to her room and started to take care of business. Once I realized the damage, I prayed.
That's right, I prayed about a diaper. Let me repeat. I prayed about a diaper. I had no other option.
I didn't pray that God would make me a bird. I didn't pray that God would make the poo disappear. I didn't even pray that God would make the blow outs stop. I prayed that God would give me direction in changing the diaper. I didn't know how to attack it. How do I take off her pants without getting poo all over her legs and socks? How do I take off her onesie without getting poo all the way up her back, on her arms, in her hair? How do I take off this diaper without getting poo all over her changing table, in such a way that throwing it away is the only option? How do I get out of this with my dignity, my charm, my grace?
My prayer was answered, because I'm still here to speak about this today. Dignity, charm, grace? No longer intact.
But the great thing is...the only redeeming factor is that you get to call your friend, and eventually your conversation turns to diapers. The friend you used to talk about fashion, boys, gossip and other various things with, now discusses with you the woes of diapers. You also talk about how even after multiple hand washings, hand sanitizer squirts, and various other hand cleaning methods, your hands still smell like poo. Gross, I know. But true.
The friend shall remain nameless. I, however, have outed myself.
But it's worth it. For this little squirt. Okay, maybe I shouldn't call her Squirt. Too descriptive right now.