Shakespeare wrote that "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." We've all read it and understood what he meant. However, I wonder if the same rings true for things that don't smell so good...
I feel as though I'd being doing myself and anyone who dare read this blog a disservice if I didn't address the issue of baby...excrement. I'm going to be as civil as possible when writing about this, but in full disclosure, this may be the most excited I've ever been about a blog post.
In my attempt to not completely disgust you, I will challenge Shakespeare's claim by refering to Cassie's "diaper deposits" as "flowers." Hopefully this will curb the reality that are her "brown bombs."
One of the things I love most about being a parent is how quickly your conversations with your spouse change. What once were discussions of dreams and the future, favorite restaurants and movies, and love for one another, now have turned to "Babe, you wouldn't BELIEVE the flower that Cassie just had. It.Was.Disgusting" It's hilarious. I'm convinced if you don't have a sense of humor about it you'll never make it. Luckily, unbeknownst to her, I trained Jesse in the eloquent humor of this ever so fine subject during the first 4 years of our marriage.
There are times in your life where you can look back and see God's direct hand on you, guiding and preparing you for future things that you wouldn't have been prepared for otherwise. I had such a moment on the day Cassie was born. We were in our hospital room, Jesse was resting in bed and it was time for Cassie's first real diaper change. This was it...my opportunity to set the future course of my fatherhood in motion. I was determined to be a dad that helped with the grose stuff. I wasn't going to hand Cassie off every time a flower bloomed. And here was my chance to put my money where my mouth was. Because no one told me, I had no idea that a baby's first flower was so absolutely disgusting. I'll spare you most of the details but it was the Mount Everest of flowers. After twelve dirty wet wipes, flower getting on me, on Cassie's foot, on her bedding, and Lord knows where else, the deed was done. I had done it. And no flower has been even close to as bad. God told me that day that I could handle anything.
Last week, Jesse and I were at work and Cassie was being watched by our nanny who is also one of our best friends. There was much trepidation that day not because work was going to be difficult, or because we hadn't gotten much sleep the night before (which was true), or even because we just missed Cassie so terribly. We were nervous about the day because Cassie hadn't flowered in over a day. Simply put: Cassie was constipated. And it was freaking Jesse and me out. So much so that I found myself telling people throughout the day. "How are you doing, James?" "I'd be a lot better if Cassie would flower." What was happening to me? Why was this all I was thinking about? Work was usually my respite from this sort of thing. But during Cassie's state of constipation, it wasn't just all I could talk about rather all I wanted to talk about. When I finally got the text message that Cassie had flowered and all was healthy, I breathed a huge sigh of relief (and then proceeded to tell everyone in the office).
Whether we are eating dinner, winding up our day with a favorite TV show, Jesse and I both find ourselves giving each other the play by play of the bad diaper change of the day. Our rule is, if you're holding Cassie when she drops a heat bomb, it is then your responsibility to change her. So holding her is a bit of a game of hot potato...sometimes literally.
Let me preface this last story by saying when I change her diapers, I always feel like I am playing a sort of "beat the clock" with Cassie. I always knew that one day...sooner or later...I was going to be switching out diapers, Cassie would wink at me, and then proceed to flower all over the place. That fear came true the other day. I had my first "come to Jesus" moment with being a father. I had Cassie on the changing table, thinking she was done flowering and thus ready for a change. The dirty diaper had been removed and the cleaning up had begun. As I was cleaning her, Cassie released some odor that suggested that her business was not quite finished. Seconds later, the large flower she layed confirmed my greatest fear. I'll again spare you the details, but I'm proud to say I handled the situation. Probably not with the grace that her mother would have, but it was handled. Her onesy was ruined, the changing tablecloth was stained, and Cassie may or may not have been held upside down at one point or another, but at least the situation was handled.
When you become a parent, you quickly realize that this IS parenting. It's going on dates and talking about your child/children the entire time. It's merely shrugging your shoulders when you get flower on you. It's thoroughly studying the real-life brochure the hospital gives you about baby bowel movements and comparing the REAL pictures to what your baby is producing (yes, that happened with us). It's all these things and much much more. And it's especially realizing all these things and never wanting to go back to how things were before. If changing some dirty diapers means I get to spend the rest of my day bragging about my daughter and trying to make her smile, even if only for a second, then call me a gardener and point me to the flowers.
*Side note: you'll notice I spared you any pictures for this blog. If you're a parent, you already know. If you're not...pictures would just scare you away...
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