It’s Christmas Eve. There will be no elaborate posts with badly Photoshopped images for your enjoyment. Instead, I will tell you about two presents my seven-month-old has given us this year.
Present # 1: Sleep
Abby has slept in until 10:00 AM the last two mornings. Freaking 10:00! Sure, she gets up at 7:00 to eat, but after that she just tucks into bed with us and sleeps like a little angel for another three hours. Then Abby wakes up smiling and giggling, batting at my face until I wake up too.
Best. Baby. Ever.
Present # 2: Daddy Poop
Erin is usually on poop duty for the simple reason that she is home with the baby all day. Even during the occasional Daddy-Daughter stretches that I have, Abby has only ever peed through a diaper once or twice. No poopsplosions.
Today, Christmas Eve, Erin headed out to Walmart for some last minute supplies (including diapers). I was actually looking forward to having Abby all to myself for a bit, and we made the most of our time by making a present for her grandpa and talking in depth about the socio-political subtlety of Fallout 3: New Vegas.
And then it happened.
“Hmm,” I said to Abby as I picked her up, “you smell a bit ripe.”
Have you ever opened up some old, unidentified food from the back of your fridge, only to find that it has exploded on itself, grown tentacles and fur, and is reading your copy of East of Eden? Yeah, this poop was like that. There was poop up her back. There was poop on her front. There was poop on her legs. There was poop on her arms.
As I often do when I am faced with a daunting task, I talked my way through it.
“Okay, Nick, you can do this. First get some wipes and a new diaper. Sit Abby up, wipe the poop off her back, and work down to the mother-load. Oh hell. Okay, there aren’t any more wipes. Why the hell aren’t there any wipes down here? Okay, okay, we’ll just use this new diaper to wiape her down, then we’ll use these Kleenexes to mop up the rest. No, Abby! Don’t play in the poop! Okay, keep both of Abby’s hands tied up with one of yours and wipe as much poop off as we can get. Okay, now pick Abby up and… dammit… use your toe to hold down the corner of the diaper so that it doesn’t stick to her bum when you pick her up. Okay, carry Abby upstairs at arm’s length, put her in the tub, run the water in there, scrub her down, remember to clean up the poop covered pile of clothes and diapers on the living room floor, rinse off Abby, dry off Abby, dress Abby in new clothes, try to remember the pile of poop on the floor, put Abby on the floor away from the poop, now clean the poop off your foot where you just stepped in it…”
Merry Christmas, you little stinker.