Adventures in SugarLand Part 2

 

Welcome back to Adventures in Sugar Land, where I share the hijinks my grands and I get up to. I also overshare the mayhem and mishaps, so buckle up—this ride might get a little bumpy.

When we last saw our heroes, they had just successfully completed a diaper change, stuck the landing, and were now relaxing in front of The Big Cat Cage at the Zoo. Editor’s note: It’s not really the Zo—never mind. Whatever. It’s “a” Zoo.

Where was I? Oh yes, THE Zoo—watching the big cats when suddenly my snuggly little grandson seemed a bit more squishy than usual...and sort of—dampish. AND OH DEAR GOD WHAT IS THAT SMELL I DON’T THINK IT’S THE LIONS. Editor’s note: It’s not the “lions...”

Aiden, being the overachiever that he was born to be, has outdone himself. And outdone the confines of his diaper. Everything that one would expect to find in the diaper of a baby beginning to eat solid food is there—just not IN the diaper.

It’s up his back. It’s out the sides, it’s quite possible even in his ears, but by that point I was beyond the ability to retain my powers of observation and was in full-blown crisis management mode.

I know I’ve said before that changing a diaper is a lot like riding a bike—your skills may have gotten rusty but it all comes back to you. What I should have said is “changing a baby is a lot like LEARNING to ride a bike—there will be wobbles and spills, some tears-- and somebody is bound to wind up with a band aid on their knee.” SPOILER ALERT: No babies where harmed in the recounting of this Diaper Event, nor the re-telling of. Only my pride got a little bruised.

At one point in the diaper change I had a super squishy baby, with the shoulders of his Onesie down around his mid-section, hovering somewhere between the changing table and the floor; wishing I had six more hands and/or the ability to cause small humans to levitate. I was also lamenting the nation-wide shortage of PPE, because at that moment I sure could have used an Ebola-proof haz-mat suit. And some salad tongs, possibly a garden hose.

Baby Toes!

Mercifully, most of the rest of that event remains a blur. It’s quite possible I put the Onesie in the garbage and the disposable diaper in the laundry, but you know what? It doesn’t really matter--Aiden still squeals and smiles when he sees me, my knee has healed nicely, his parents are still speaking to me and I’m sure it’s just coincidental timing that his mother quit her job to stay home and run a wedding consulting business with a baby on her hip. 

Probably.