Blast from the Past
One of the most common pieces of advice I received when Abbie was a baby was to enjoy this time because it moves fast. I should enjoy every moment, because I’ll never get to experience them again. 20 years from now when I’m mature enough to be giving unsolicited advice to random new parents I meet, I’ll look longingly at these days.
I don’t remember hearing this advice so much when the twins were born. Maybe it’s because I didn’t go out in public, hence limiting my exposure to foreign germs and the unsolicited advice that goes with them. Maybe it’s because everyone could see I was up to my eyeballs in the glorious experiences of childcare, and I didn’t need someone pointing out that some day I might actually miss having three children simultaneously screaming at me. This ties into the other piece of advice I frequently received, which was not to worry because these days don’t last very long.*
Now that the kids are a little older and we’re fairly certain that we’re done having kids so long as that surgery holds, I can look back on some of the things I’ll never experience again. Most of those things I doubt I’ll miss, especially the things that happened between 8pm and 8am. No more preparing bottles. No more 3am feedings. No more diaper blowouts.
Funny thing about that last one. Turns out, we’re not done with diaper blowouts.
We took the kids out to eat last night. We’d spent the weekend working hard readying our new house for habitation, and wanted to shakeup our meal routine. Instead of grabbing takeout, we went to the food. Ellie’s father was visiting us, and with the kids in tow, that meant we went to the Chinese buffet, where kids eat free and the food can be at the table before the kids have a chance to spill their drinks.
Being away from his usual home all weekend must have thrown Ian’s system out of whack. He missed the usual pooping cues he sees throughout the day, such as daddy doing dishes or daddy sitting down to supper, and wound up with a backlog** of two days worth of takeout to process.
He processed it around dessert time. The diaper ordinarily distributes the load evenly until someone can catch wind. Unfortunately, he’d slipped down in the buffet-supplied high chair, giving the load nowhere to go but straight up his back. Ellie pointed this out to me by pointing to her shirt after holding him.
It took me a minute to remember what to do. The kids had settled into a usual pooping routine so long ago that I thought I’d never have to worry about blowouts again. I grabbed the diaper bag and hauled him to the restroom.
The restroom had no changing table, forcing me to use the floor. Do you know what the heat tables look like at a buffet? Now imagine what the restroom floor looks like. I placed a changing pad on the floor, which Ian avoided by scooting across the floor.
Luckily, I still had diapers that fit and wipes that were wet. Cleaning his skin was no problem. Cleaning his clothes was a different matter. We didn’t’ have a clean set, so I wiped them off as best I could and put them back on. Abbie had already finished her ice cream anyway, thus signaling that it was time to leave and he wouldn’t have to wear them much longer.
As we walked to the car, I prayed this was our last blowout. The kids are on regular schedules, so I should be able to catch poop before it spreads. We’ll start potty training soon, and we’ll never have to worry about blowouts again, just accidents. I hope the potty training days move very fast.
* Whenever someone longingly told me that time moves fast, my standard retort was “I hope so.”
** Ha!
I don’t remember hearing this advice so much when the twins were born. Maybe it’s because I didn’t go out in public, hence limiting my exposure to foreign germs and the unsolicited advice that goes with them. Maybe it’s because everyone could see I was up to my eyeballs in the glorious experiences of childcare, and I didn’t need someone pointing out that some day I might actually miss having three children simultaneously screaming at me. This ties into the other piece of advice I frequently received, which was not to worry because these days don’t last very long.*
Now that the kids are a little older and we’re fairly certain that we’re done having kids so long as that surgery holds, I can look back on some of the things I’ll never experience again. Most of those things I doubt I’ll miss, especially the things that happened between 8pm and 8am. No more preparing bottles. No more 3am feedings. No more diaper blowouts.
Funny thing about that last one. Turns out, we’re not done with diaper blowouts.
We took the kids out to eat last night. We’d spent the weekend working hard readying our new house for habitation, and wanted to shakeup our meal routine. Instead of grabbing takeout, we went to the food. Ellie’s father was visiting us, and with the kids in tow, that meant we went to the Chinese buffet, where kids eat free and the food can be at the table before the kids have a chance to spill their drinks.
Being away from his usual home all weekend must have thrown Ian’s system out of whack. He missed the usual pooping cues he sees throughout the day, such as daddy doing dishes or daddy sitting down to supper, and wound up with a backlog** of two days worth of takeout to process.
He processed it around dessert time. The diaper ordinarily distributes the load evenly until someone can catch wind. Unfortunately, he’d slipped down in the buffet-supplied high chair, giving the load nowhere to go but straight up his back. Ellie pointed this out to me by pointing to her shirt after holding him.
It took me a minute to remember what to do. The kids had settled into a usual pooping routine so long ago that I thought I’d never have to worry about blowouts again. I grabbed the diaper bag and hauled him to the restroom.
The restroom had no changing table, forcing me to use the floor. Do you know what the heat tables look like at a buffet? Now imagine what the restroom floor looks like. I placed a changing pad on the floor, which Ian avoided by scooting across the floor.
Luckily, I still had diapers that fit and wipes that were wet. Cleaning his skin was no problem. Cleaning his clothes was a different matter. We didn’t’ have a clean set, so I wiped them off as best I could and put them back on. Abbie had already finished her ice cream anyway, thus signaling that it was time to leave and he wouldn’t have to wear them much longer.
As we walked to the car, I prayed this was our last blowout. The kids are on regular schedules, so I should be able to catch poop before it spreads. We’ll start potty training soon, and we’ll never have to worry about blowouts again, just accidents. I hope the potty training days move very fast.
* Whenever someone longingly told me that time moves fast, my standard retort was “I hope so.”
** Ha!
posted by Matt at
11:22 PM
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