Diapering Triplets: It's a Number's GameJohn Cave Osborne
Listen up all you moms out there — particularly those of you who look at Daddy as your dopey apprentice who couldn’t diaper his way out of a wet paper bag. (Worst use of that phrase, ever.) When it comes to diapering? This man’s got you beat, woman.
And I have my triplets to
blame thank. Because in those first few days of their reign on planet Earth, we went through about ten diapers per infant per day. If you’re doing the math at home, that’s one diaper change every 48 minutes. See, it’s a numbers game, babe. Which means back in the day, I diapered like the Duggars, y’all. (Hey. That’s good. I could do a line of onesies that say My Daddy Diapers Like a Duggar on the bottom. Dollar bills, y’all.) Which means that when the triplets were little, I changed more diapers before breakfast than you changed in an entire day.
Oh, sure, I was a bit clueless at the beginning. Like one of the first nights that all three of them were at home, yours truly was in charge of the 2:00am feed / diaper change. Sam went first and his bottle went down good. So I popped my little amigo upon the changing table and went to town. My wife, Caroline, had warned me to cover each boy’s “penis” (for what it’s worth, you’ll never see me write any form of the word “penis” without quotation marks) when I changed them or they’d pee on me.
But what she didn’t know was that I was super-quick on the change. I knew Sam wasn’t gonna have time to pee on me. Besides, I was certain she was being a bit dramatic, this whole beware of the pee! business. So I went in without cover. It’s funny. I sorta didn’t believe my wife that such a thing could happen. But I must say, in this case?
Peeing was believing. (I’m so sorry for that. Horrendous. Truly.)
Jack was next and after his bottle, I faced the same dilemma. Do I (a) cover his “penis” to avoid potential pee or (b) just get on with it. I went with (b) for two simple reasons. First, it was LATE, people. And I still had one more baby to feed and change. And each minute spent at the changing table was a minute NOT spent in my bed. And second, I figured there was no way lightning could strike twice.
But two line drives of warm urine sure could, this time, a glancing blow off the cheek. After scanning the room for the hidden camera (never found it), I finished the change knowing full well that I’d be covering from that point forward.
That left my little girl, Kirby, to feed and change. Everything went just fine. But then, again, she had no “penis” which required covering. (Kirby, honey, for being such a good girl, Daddy’s gonna post a picture of you and me when you were in the NICU. Boys? You get no picture. Let this be a lesson to you. Don’t you ever pee on Daddy again, you hear?)
Now. Where was I? Oh, that night. So yes, there was an adjustment period. A time during which I was baptized by
urine fire, if you will. But I caught on quickly. And I’ve covered ever since. And I’m proud to say that I’ve been urine-free ever since.
These days, we’ve added one more to our brood. A little boy named Luke. He’s 11 months old. And he has a “penis.” But I cover that bad boy up each time I’m swapping out Huggies. Because fool me once, shame on you.
But fool me twice? Shame on pee. (Oh my.)