Wet Tory
Tory was wet when I pulled him from his crib yesterday morning. Normally when I say a child is wet, I mean his diaper is soaked almost to the point of leaking through the plastic shell.*
Here when I say he was wet, I mean he literally was wet. His legs were wet. His pajamas were wet. His bedspread was wet. His poor cow blanket was wet.
I’ve learned to minimize leaky overnight diapers with a few tricks. I use bigger size that theoretically holds more. I use the expensive diapers since holding back massive quantities of liquid is one occasion where price matters. I limit evening drinks because if it’s good enough to keep me from peeing several times overnight, it’s good enough for them. I change their diapers right before bedtime, even on bath nights when they already get a fresh diaper less than an hour before bedtime; all that bathwater they drink creates a massive output.
My tactics all but eliminate wet beds. Occasionally someone will wake with a wet spot, but it’s nothing cringe-worthy. Tory’s mess yesterday went beyond a leaky diaper. Everything was soaked.
At first, I was afraid that my months of sleep-deprivation had finally caught up to me, and I’d put him down for the night with no diaper. I quickly determined that he was wearing a diaper, but it had come unfastened at some point, probably about the time I buttoned up his pajamas. His diaper may have been the driest thing in the bed since it came undone so early. Finding his diaper reassured me that I could keep ratcheting down the minutes I spend asleep since I hadn’t suffered any adverse side effects yet.
With Abbie and Ian screaming at my feet for breakfast, I hurriedly prepared Tory. He got a clean shirt with no pants since it’s my kitchen and my rules. As everyone ate breakfast, I returned to the bedroom to begin cleaning. I had already considered washing laundry yesterday morning, but this sealed it with a very wet adhesive.
I collected the wet things, the damp things, the things touching damp things, and Ian’s bedding just for the heck of it. I rushed to the laundry room, started a load, and returned to the kitchen in time to hear the boys begin screaming at their now empty trays. I released everyone, cleaned a little, and felt Ian’s diaper. He was sufficiently wet.
*Normally when others tell me my child is wet, I’ll feel his diaper and realize that it can still hold several more ounces.
Here when I say he was wet, I mean he literally was wet. His legs were wet. His pajamas were wet. His bedspread was wet. His poor cow blanket was wet.
I’ve learned to minimize leaky overnight diapers with a few tricks. I use bigger size that theoretically holds more. I use the expensive diapers since holding back massive quantities of liquid is one occasion where price matters. I limit evening drinks because if it’s good enough to keep me from peeing several times overnight, it’s good enough for them. I change their diapers right before bedtime, even on bath nights when they already get a fresh diaper less than an hour before bedtime; all that bathwater they drink creates a massive output.
My tactics all but eliminate wet beds. Occasionally someone will wake with a wet spot, but it’s nothing cringe-worthy. Tory’s mess yesterday went beyond a leaky diaper. Everything was soaked.
At first, I was afraid that my months of sleep-deprivation had finally caught up to me, and I’d put him down for the night with no diaper. I quickly determined that he was wearing a diaper, but it had come unfastened at some point, probably about the time I buttoned up his pajamas. His diaper may have been the driest thing in the bed since it came undone so early. Finding his diaper reassured me that I could keep ratcheting down the minutes I spend asleep since I hadn’t suffered any adverse side effects yet.
With Abbie and Ian screaming at my feet for breakfast, I hurriedly prepared Tory. He got a clean shirt with no pants since it’s my kitchen and my rules. As everyone ate breakfast, I returned to the bedroom to begin cleaning. I had already considered washing laundry yesterday morning, but this sealed it with a very wet adhesive.
I collected the wet things, the damp things, the things touching damp things, and Ian’s bedding just for the heck of it. I rushed to the laundry room, started a load, and returned to the kitchen in time to hear the boys begin screaming at their now empty trays. I released everyone, cleaned a little, and felt Ian’s diaper. He was sufficiently wet.
*Normally when others tell me my child is wet, I’ll feel his diaper and realize that it can still hold several more ounces.
posted by Matt at
11:48 PM
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