This post is not for the faint of heart. This week has been one for the books in regards to diapers.
Sunday we met friends for brunch at a nice restaurant. Jackson was dressed in my favorite outfit; a blue striped polo shirt onesie and khaki pants. We had been sitting down for less than ten minutes and were enjoying our coffee when Jackson started to get fussy. The second I picked him up from his seat everyone at the table joined in a collective gasp. I was met with a resounding "NO! Don't!" as I was about to pull him close to me and put him on my lap. Then I saw the large spot on the backside of his pants.
As I scooped up the diaper bag and plotted my route to the bathroom, I started to sweat. Not only was I about to face a gnarly diaper situation, but I was now the lady with the screaming kid trying not to hit people with the diaper bag (or the poopy baby) as I squeezed between tables. The bathroom was, thankfully, a one person bathroom but was unfortunately located near the front counter and next to several tables so everyone could hear my boy continue to voice his discomfort about this situation.
I threw the changing pad from our diaper bag down onto the changing table and gathered my supplies. As soon as I started to remove the soiled khakis the diaper sludge started to leak onto the changing pad. The cloth changing pad. WHY oh WHY is a diaper changing pad not made of a wipe-able material? As I mentioned before, the blue polo onesie was my favorite. What I did not mention was that it was incredibly hard to put on and take off. I yanked and tugged as Jackson continued to yell and make it as difficult as humanly possible for me to free him from his onesie prison. Several wipes and a few tears later I managed to get the boy clean and wrangle him into a new clean outfit. I stuffed the dirty clothes into a disposable bag (double bagged because, gross...), hoping against hope that they would be able to be salvaged. I emerged from the bathroom victorious with a calm, clean, content child and my head held high. Only to find that everyone else was just about finished with their meal as mine sat at my spot cold and uneaten.
The pants survived the day, but we sadly made the decision to let the polo go.
Fast forward to the next day.
I was upstairs putting away laundry and enjoying a knitting podcast. Jackson was sitting happily in his bouncy seat, smiling, chatting away, and loving life. When he started to quiet down and the clock struck nap time, I laid the swaddle out on our bed and went to retrieve him from the confines of the bouncer. When I lifted him up my heart sank as I realized that he had filled not only his diaper, but also the soft white cloth of the bouncy seat...with poop.
I held him out an arm length away and rushed him to his room down the hall. Thankfully I checked for a diaper before I got the changing table involved, because there were none in the room. We keep the pack and play set up downstairs with the changing table attachment on and a stack of diapers nearby. Much like the day before, I set him down and gathered my supplies. The damage to the clothes didn't look bad and I was hopeful. As any mom of boys knows, the window of time that your baby boy should be without the cover of a diaper is very small. The moment that I opened the diaper he started to pee. I scrambled to get both Jackson and the changing table cleaned up and get the new diaper on him before the chaos spread further. After a quick wipe bath and a cuddle, I wrapped him up. He was asleep before we had even gotten up to his crib, leaving me to clean up the quite literal sh*t storm he had left behind.
After the cleanup, I couldn't resist going to peek at him while he was napping. I don't understand how such a tiny person could create such a scene, but looking at this sweet little face reminds me that I will willingly clean up any pooptastrophe that comes along with it.