Yesterday was a first--
Kate pooped such a massive amount that it not only leaked out onto her clothes (past the diaper, past the onesie, soiling the sleeper she had on) but also *my* clothes. I coped quite well, I thought. Got her all changed and washed up (while she screamed bloddy murder all the way) and got most of the stuff off my jeans with a wet washcloth. Once the incident had passed, and Kate was settled down, I decided that I needed to change myself. Tessa was feeding Corey, so I figured I'd haul Kate upstairs to the bedroom with me and let her lay on the bed while I changed. That's when the massive spitup happened. Not just on my shirt, but down the front of it. I have no idea how much it was, just that it was wet, warm, and enough to go neck to waistline. Ewwwww!!! Now if we ever hear Kate using the F- word, we'll know *exactly* where she picked it up, down to the date and time!! Maaaannnn!! I think that *may* have been the exact moment where I hit the lowpoint in my fatherhood. Not that I yelled at the baby or anything like that, just the low feeling of "so my life has come to this . . . covered in poop and puke . . ." and knowing that quite likely it wasn't going to be the last, or possibly even the worst. Even on the saddest binge drinking college days, I don't think I ever wound up soaked in someone else's puke, and I don't recall having poopy pants since I was in diapers myself. Ah, well, after a nice shower and a bit of a cry, Kate and I cuddled up a bit and all was good in the world again, even when she started pulling on my chest hair. Yowch!
So, all you parents out there, let me know--what's the worst you've had?
1 comment:
Emily never spit up at all. When she was about six months old, we visited some friends, whose new baby spit up constantly. While I was relating our relief that Emily never spit up, she projectiled all the way across our friends' new sofa.
Never say never.
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