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!

Let the peeing begin!

How many new parents does it take to change a diaper? Apparently two is not enough! Last night, Darrell and I needed more than four hands to handle our little one because he kept presenting us with new challenges. First, it's worth noting that he always screams bloody murder when he's changed, so the wailing is already rattling when you're changing his diaper. I've discovered that turning him on his stomach after an initial wipedown helps twofold: he seems to like it more, so he's quieter, and it's easier to clean the cracks and crevices of his hiney. Of course, when he decides to pee while on his stomach, the arrangement doesn't work so well since by the time Mom notices, he's rolling in his urine.

So, I flipped him over and on to the side of the changing pad that wasn't wet while my husband tried to stem the pee before it rolled on to the couch, where we were changing him. (Our modest budget and cramped, cluttered apartment means no permanent changing station.) Meanwhile, I had already put Desitin on my finger to rub on to his butt, but in his unhappy flailing, he'd managed to get it on his hand - which he nearly always has in his mouth. So now I'm trying to frantically wipe the Desitin off his hand before it makes its way to the wrong orifice while my husband tries to help with the pad and wipe him down further. Meanwhile, I need to get his partly pee-soaked onesie off (the clean one I put on fifteen minutes earlier) without getting more Desitin everywhere. When my husband goes to dispose of something or other, little Darrell realizes - wait! I'm not empty yet!

And so goes the uncontrolled hose... all over the arm of the couch (my side - incidentally also the arm that the dogs oddly always compulsively lick) and what was left of the changing pad. So now I'm trying to wipe down his tummy, get the rest of the onesie off and block any more geysers. My husband is getting the last of the Desitin fully off his hand while the baby flails and kicks so hard that he kicks... the new Desitin I just put on my finger in hopes of finally getting it on his booty! Somehow I manage to get more Desitin on my finger and then on his buns before it gets to any other of his limbs while my husband finally manages to get the fresh diaper under him. As he fastens the diaper, I find a clean onesie (we've done more laundry for this seven-pound kid in a week than I do for myself in a month, it seems) and pull it over his contorted red face and writhing torso.

There. Done. Now just to calm down the crying.