Diaper Difficulties

Changing diapers is hard work. I figure I change about 15 diapers a day, give or take a few poops. At four minutes per diaper change, that means I spend an hour every day changing diapers. Subtract the seven* hours a day I spend sleeping, and that’s more than 5% of my life spent slaving over a hot diaper. That’s a lot of time spent lifting children, removing pants, opening diapers, wiping bottoms, wiping fingers after they wiped their bottoms, rushing across the room to grab a diaper that I should’ve grabbed before starting while praying nobody rolls off the changing table, attaching the clean diaper, replacing pants, and returning children to the floor.

My children could make my life easier by cooperating during diaper changes, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from taking care of children, it’s that they don’t exist to make my life easier. That, and always grab a fresh diaper before removing the dirty one.

Yesterday, Abbie went to extra lengths to make diaper changes more difficult. It had nothing to do with misbehaving while I change her diaper. She behaves fairly well having learned that the fastest way to return to climbing on furniture is to go limp and let daddy do his work. She made diaper changes more difficult by adding some excitement to her brothers’ diaper changes.

Right after breakfast, the boys always poop. I leave their soaked overnight diapers on a little longer because I know that post-breakfast poop is coming. I always check their diapers before I start to eat, and yesterday Tory’s diaper was poopy as always. I set him on the changing table to do my work, but the boys don’t lie still like Abbie. They’re too young to climb furniture, so being on top of the changing table is still a novel experience for them. There are too many things up there to distract them, like the wipe warmer or a slightly different texture on the wall, and they love to roll everywhere while I try to change them. Usually I hold their feet for a couple seconds while cleaning them, and they lie still long enough for me to finish, preferring to make their break when I turn away to throw away the diaper.

Yesterday morning she walked into the room while I was changing Tory. That’s usually not a big deal, but this time she was carrying the bowl of cereal that she likes to graze on for an hour because she can’t be bothered to sit still long enough to eat a half-dozen Fruit Rings. Nothing distracts Tory like food, especially when his sister carries it and he has a good chance of making her dump it on the floor. I had to spend the next several seconds holding Tory’s legs in place like a rodeo rider holding onto an irate bull, except that the rider only risked being trampled, while I risked smearing diaper deposits everywhere.

Later that day, I was changing Ian after his post-lunch poop. I had the fresh diaper by my side, his diaper opened and moved to a safe location, and a wipe in hand when Abbie walked into the room. This time she was naked. She had already stripped naked three times that morning, so I wasn’t too concerned until I noticed the giant poopy spot on her bottom. Suddenly I had to decide if I wanted to take care of Abbie knowing Ian would smear everything in a three-foot radius as he wriggled away, or if I wanted to finish cleaning Ian hoping that Abbie stayed standing by my side and that Tory and the dog stayed away from the exposed diaper wherever it lay.

I opted to finish the job on Ian. I hurried through the process and skipped replacing the pants to move to Abbie a little sooner before the poop hit the fan, or anything else in the house. I’m pretty sure I spent less than four minutes changing that diaper.

* On a good day.