Yesterday I took Claire ALL BY MYSELF back to the birth center to get her hearing tested. Please note – I would have never made this trip by myself the first time around. Not a chance. THIS TIME, I’m practically a professional and am clearly capable of walking from the car to the waiting room, into the little hearing test room, and back to the car again at the hospital that is TWO blocks away from our house.
I packed the diaper bag with extra onesies (because the fog is lifting as I remember all that is needed in ye ole diaper bag in the early days), diapers, wipes, burp cloths, nursing apron, campfire stove, jello, and several matches (jk) and we were off (the jello is not a joke, actually. I ate some in the waiting room). I slung Claire in the sling (not in the cradle hold in case you’ve seen the news lately) and we waited, sometimes sitting sometimes standing depending on Miss Claire’s preference. The hearing test lady (official title fail) took us back to her teensy tiny little office and performed the test on a sleeping Claire nestled in the sling,
The left ear passed with flying colors.
We had a harder time with the right ear due to little baby coos and purrs, so the gal had me change positions. I cradled Claire and we entered take three. In the quiet, still room, we hear what I might begin to call The Mustard Bottle Explosion. Not once, or twice, but three times Claire let ‘er rip with such a vengeance I was sure it would start leaking on the floor that second. I should add that the girl hadn’t pooped in like 48 hours so it was all stored up. The gal looked at me and chuckled, saying, “sounds like a messy one!” I just closed my eyes, smiled, and shook my head.
Claire passed her hearing test and the lady asked that I change her diaper outside her itty bitty office and we set out for the waiting room. THANKFULLY, I was the only person there. Could you imagine if a poor laboring woman walked in just then? She would have headed for the hills after seeing what I’m about to describe.
I set a screaming Claire on a bench and whipped out my brand new fancy diaper changing bad that my mom gave me – this is its christening, I thought. And before I could even take off her pants, my fingers were covered in poo. COVERED. I think I used 4 wipes before even getting to the onesie. With onesie unbuttoned, I went for the diaper… and that’s when I noticed an enormous puddle developing underneath the diaper and all over Claire’s entire onesie. My child was covered. In poo and pee. And my hand looked like I had dipped it in hot mustard yellow wax.
And so I just started laughing. Because if I wasn’t laughing I’d be crying, and the first time around I think I cried and that was no fun. It’s much better to laugh.
And while I laughed, I also gritted my teeth and went to work.
Have you ever seen moms change a newborn diaper?
They usually talk to their baby in a sweet, calming, cheerful voice. Then their baby looks up at them, bats their eyelashes, and blows a kis.
Not me. I say NOTHING. It takes complete concentration to change poopy diapers. If you were to walk in on me, you would most likely think I was a robot. No wonder my babies don’t blow kisses. In that quiet waiting room, we worked through all the poo and pee, took a picture, and fetched a trash bag from a nurse.
Yes, I took a picture, because I’m cool like that.
Want to see?
Congratulations Claire, considered yourself christened on this blog. You’ve most definitely arrived.