Well, This Stinks

Last night my 6-month-old son decided to "do his business" one more time before he went to bed. As he was sitting on my lap, he was straining & grunting. "Greeeeeeeat," I thought. In almost 5 years of being a parent, I still hate changing diapers. I hate it with a burning, flaming passion. In fact, I still cover my nose with my t-shirt when I'm lucky enough to get a gift-wrapped baby bomb. So after the straining & grunting session, I brought my son to the changing table to freshen him up. Little did I know that life as I knew it was about to change.

I unzipped my son's pajamas & began to remove his diaper. It was a lot like opening a gift--a very nasty gift--since I didn't know exactly what to expect. When I pulled that diaper back, I saw the nastiest mess of poo I've ever seen in my life. I dunno what he had eaten last, but it caused him to take the mother of all dumps. I quickly pulled my t-shirt over my nose, pulled out a wipe, and began the fruitless attempt at cleaning the steaming brown pile from his skin. After I pulled out a second wipe, I realized that THERE WERE NO MORE WIPES. After screaming in horror like a little girl, I called for reinforcements. My wife arrived at the scene with a new stack of wipes, but it was too late. Because of my son's glee at being changed, he had begun to move his limbs around as if to dance with joy. And as a consequence, bits of semi-liquid turd began appearing on his feet, his legs, his hands, his stomach, his pajamas, my hands, the changing table's terrycloth cover, and a silk pillow nearby. Holding back my freshly-eaten dinner of tostadas, I quickly finished cleaning his smoking exhaust to the best of my ability while my wife filled the bathtub with water. As he dangled precariously from my outstretched arms, I raced to the bathroom to toss him in the tub. The impromptu bath freed my son from the remainder of his megacrap, and my wife rescued the pajamas & other contaminated objects.

As of right now, I'm still traumatized by this terrible experience. I may seek counseling to help me get through this. I don't know if I'll ever be the same again.