Thursday, October 25, 2007
My baby, Helen, hates to have her diaper changed. I know this is not uncommon. My older daughter, Ruthie, did as well, but Ruthie is a different child than Helen. Ruthie would protest and occasionally have to be held own. She'd whine. She'd scream. We'd get it done. Helen, on the other hand, turned it into a sporting event. Helen is incredibly strong for her size. ( I mentioned in my intro post that she was born ten weeks early. She came home from the hospital 6 weeks before her due date, weighing a little over 4 1/2 lbs. At that time, if you held her in a standing position on your lap, she would bear weight on her legs. The is is when she was negative 6 weeks old. I mean it, she's strong.) Anyway, it takes some force to hold Helen down when her diaper needs changing. She twists herself into all kinds of positions, slips from adult's grip and runs away, half naked and screaming. Adult chases her down, pins he own again, and hopes to get diaper on before Helen escapes again. I don't need to tell you that I change her diaper as infrequently as allowed by the Office of Children and Family Services. And I'm generally pretty wiped out when it's over. So much so that I often forget to throw the diaper away and it lays on the living room floor awhile (we gave up on the changing table long, long ago). So today, late afternoon, we had a diaper changing event/match. After a brief struggle, Mommy won. Once the new diaper was on, I quickly returned to the kitchen to finish defrosting dinner. Hubby came home, children were happy, playing laughing, blah, blah, blah. During a break in the defrosting process, I returned to the living room ,where Helen was still clad in only her diaper. She had what appeared to be a tissue in her hand, and she was vigorously wiping her bare belly (she loves to clean surfaces, including herself.) She then proceeded to thoroughly wash her face, and then her hair, and hubby and I chuckled over how she was smearing snot into her otherwise clean hair. Ha, ha, ha. I glanced over to the other side of the room, and realized the diaper from an hour or so ago was still sitting there. Unfolded. (I always wrap them up, even if I don't throw them away.) I pick up the diaper, glance inside, and relaize, as I gag, that Helen's tissue was indeed the wipe from her wet diaper change. Fantastic. No, I did not rush her to the tub. I chased her down with a brand new clean wipe and cleaned her that way. Cuz, you know, dinner was almost ready.