There are very few hard and fast rules regarding a diaper change. A diaper emergency can strike at any time in any place, but until today, it was always the baby who needed the emergency assistance.
That pattern took a bizarre turn this morning when a standard feeding devolved into an unprecedented toxic spill that would leave Maddie’s PaPa scarred for at least the next 30 to 40 minutes.
It all seemed so innocent; Maddie was in the process of being burped in the sitting position when she unexpectedly whipped her head towards the left while expectorating a thick stream of undesirable fluid. Never let it be said that my little girl is anything less than a crack shot!
The stream of regurgitated milk hit my thigh and aided by gravity, tumbled relentlessly down my leg into areas we can’t mention on this family blog. Now it’s really a party!
PaPa’s privates and his boxers are both swimming in this barbarous baby cocktail and there’s not too much that can be immediately done about it. We are in the middle of a feeding and Madeleine has made it perfectly clear that we are far from done. I can’t remember the last time I was sitting in a pair of soaked britches!
My mind is swimming (no pun intended) with possible exit strategies, but each outcome would just make things worse. What could I have done to prevent this?
I even stop to ponder the crazy female astronaut solution. Remember the wiggedy whacked Lisa Nowak from 2007? She’s that NASA astronaut who drove nearly a thousand miles to try and murder some chick. Lisa wore diapers during the drive so she wouldn’t have to take any bathroom breaks on the way. That must have been one heck of a diaper!
In the end, I decided that I’m still a little too young for adult diapers, but I know that my little girl is like a tiger crouching in the high grass – waiting for her next chance to strike.