Diaper PTSDC

I feel as though I should kick off this blog off with an apology. Where everyday randomness and stories used to fill these "pages", baby stories have become king. Sorry, friends. My creativity these days is limited based on my activities, therefore you can either have stories about babies or fundraising. Oh, what's that you say? You'd rather hear stories of writing appeals, planning events and entering data in a donor database, said no one ever. That being said, I am left with baby stories and you are left reading whatever I have the energy to share on 4 hours of sleep. Which brings me to diapers...

As a boy mom, there are many things to learn. The biggest learning curve right off the bat was retraining my brain on shopping for baby clothes. I was always drawn to the pink side of the shopping floor. Skirts, dresses with ruffles, leggings, and teeny, weeny bikinis are just, well, cuter. Boys have pants or shorts to choose from. Your options appear to be way slimmer, at least at first glance. I have since begun to enjoy shopping for tiny man clothes and have discovered hats, hoodies with ears, and the world's smallest ties.

Aside from boy clothes being different, some of their needs are different as well as the obvious difference of anatomy. Where this said anatomy difference comes into major play is during the always occurring diaper change. Wow was I in for an awakening.

I kid you not when I say that I'm pretty convinced that in the first two months of boy mommyhood, I suffered from PTSDC...Post Traumatic Stress from Diaper Change. This baby came in with guns blazin'! I have wiped tinkle off the walls, the carpet, the lampshade, my clothes, the baby's ear, cheek and sadly, his eye. I'd tell you that it did not sneak into his mouth, but I'm not confident in that statement. After examination, his mouth appeared to be spared, but I had looked away for a nano second when the gunfire occurred so I just had to go on the evidence, and it was certainly not conclusive.

After a few failed attempts of keeping things under control with a peepee teepee (which, mind you, is WAY too big for a newborn thus not really catching anything but instead creating a ricochet affect), I began to realize that as I'd tug the Velcro loose on his diaper, my heart would begin to race, my hands would start to shake ever so slightly, a tiny bit of sweat would start to form under my arms, and I'd feel as though something awful was waiting for us around the bend. If those are not true warning signs of PTSDC, I don't know what is.

My motto became "get in and get out QUICKLY." Do not dilly-dally. Do not stop and make small talk with the cute baby who is lovingly staring up at you with those big baby blues. That's how the enemy ropes you in! Oh, look at me, I'm so cute and warm and snuggly. You should pause, momma, and bend over to kiss my cheek and WHAM, peepee on the lampshade, sucka. Now you're going to have to change your shirt, find the Resolve for the carpet and Google "can urine in the eye make my baby go blind?"

I can clearly remember a middle of the night diaper change and feeding around the 5 week mark. The Hubs got up to change the diaper as I prepared to feed the baby. As I walked like a zombie sauntered passed the nursery, I looked in to see the Hubs had left the baby sans peepee teepee as he reached for the diaper wipes. Big mistake. Big. Huge. And then I waited for them. After about five minutes they rolled into the den together and when I asked what took so long, the Hubs reported that the baby had "peed all over himself." Well, duh. You gotta cover those things, man. Even in a foggy, sleep deprived state, you cannot leave those things to chance!

I'm happy to report that the gunfire has slowed down to somewhere between friendly shots here and there to an almost cease fire, but I am not letting my guard down. No way. I don't know that you ever fully come back from being hit in the face with tinkle. I'm pretty sure that image stays with you for a long time. Pretty sure, indeed. Just ask the poor lampshade.