Baptized into parenting

One thing I discovered very quickly about taking care of a newborn is that you end up doing a lot of laundry. A lot. Between the spit-up and milk leaks and diaper-changing accidents, he goes through a lot of onesies, and my husband, mother and I go through a lot of shirts!

Today, however, little Darrell took it to a new level, and I do believe I am, in the words of my friend Vikki Powers, officially "baptized" as a parent. It started this morning when he had a dirty diaper. It was quite an impressive fill, so it was taking longer to clean his cute little butt while I positioned the new diaper under him. I didn't move fast enough. I was mid-sentence asking my mother whether we should give him a bath today when he began peeing all over himself and the couch. (We change him on changing pads on the couch.)

I laughed while I tried to cover him up and my mom got a new changing pad. Yes, it would be a bath day. I figured he had just emptied his bowels and bladder, and we were about to put him in his mini tub, so I held him without a diaper while my mom grabbed the baby soap and fit the tub into the kitchen sink. Poor assumption... his bladder was apparently NOT empty. As I held him against me, he began peeing all over me and the kitchen floor, creating a larger puddle around me than I thought possible from such a small creature! I was wearing only my bra and underwear, it was mostly streaming down my abdomen and legs. My mom mopped up what was on the floor and I figured we might as well get the bath over as quickly as possible so *I* could now shower.

He screamed his head off for the bath - he still hates being on his back and was probably frightened - but we got through it and I wrapped him in a towel as he began calming down. Just as he was good and dry and calm, he spit up all over his just-cleansed arm and chest. After wiping him down with a paper towel (the nearest thing I could grab) and passing him to my mom to put on a diaper and onesie, I headed to the shower. When I returned, my mom described how Darrell had spit up all over the changing pad and himself as she tried to put on his diaper, somehow fortunately missing the not-yet-buttoned onesie he half had on. By this point, we deduced he truly could not have any liquids left in his tiny body to expel and he was getting fussy so that meant only one thing: it was feeding time again!