Friday, December 24, 2010

Baby Burlesque or The Art of The Public Diaper Change

Good Morning Readers,

It seems as though it’s been forever since I posted. This is due in part to the impending holiday tornado that’s about to descend upon a wide-eyed and sleep deprived me, and partly because nothing exciting has transpired over the last few days. I do, however, have to take time out of my regularly scheduled day to share something new I'm now being subjected to whenever I leave my house....the public diaper change.
     If I could pick one word to describe this experience, I'd be just grazing the wide, wonderful pool of adjectives by picking "magical". There’s simply nothing like having to strip your baby down in the middle of a parking lot in order to sanitize its nether-regions, while simultaneously trying to avoid the horrified stares of the general public. In my case, both the twins needed to be changed after we exited a last minute shopping trip this past weekend, and this went quickly from a simple job, to what, I’m certain, resembled a circus side show act.
     I started by getting my son changed rather quickly on the passenger-side seat of the car, while blocking his little wee from prying eyes. This was easy, as my hips are now wide enough to span the Grand Canyon. Feeling pretty good about my speed and accuracy, I grabbed my daughter and proceeded to begin the diaper extraction and wiping process. This was about the time impatient lady shopper showed up trying to squeeze past me and into her crappy, silver, four door, present-wagon.
     Sensing that she wasn’t the type of woman to wait for a diaper change in progress, I picked up my pants-less baby in one hand, the dirty diaper in the other, and managed to hoist myself into the passenger seat and shut the door.
     I watched as the impatient woman wedged herself between our vehicles and plopped down in her driver side seat. Between turning her key in the ignition, and flying backwards into the parking lot, I was lucky enough to catch her shooting me a look that was definitely annoyed but said at the same time, "Hillbillies who decide to raise children really should stay in their own cabins."
     Not really caring who spit in her cocoa that morning, and having a job to do, I proceeded to plop my daughter on my lap and keep on the task. You gotta do what you gotta do. And I did. The only detriment to the process was the suv smelling faintly of poop the next time we climbed in.
    As luck would have it, I got to run through this process two more times that evening at the work Christmas party. No one warns you that there's no changing tables in a pool hall. Being my third and fourth tries at public diaper changing that day, I wasn't nearly as shy about it. I even managed, while crouched on the bathroom floor, to catch a poor girl off guard by smiling at her from under the stall, while she washed her hands. She'll tell her friends the story of the "poor homeless woman in the bathroom" for years to come.

Merry Christmas Readers!