As such, I’ve forgotten more about diapering than most parents ever knew to begin with. But one thing I’ll never forget is that dirty diapers are like good or bad luck. They come in waves. And the biggest wave this dad ever caught was the one that came in one weekend shortly after the triplets started eating solid foods. (Makes sense when you think about it, no?)
By noon that Saturday, I had already changed four. Noon, people. I told Caroline that I wanted to be the one to change each and every diaper from that point until they went down for the night. Aside from suspecting I was an incorrigible weirdo, Caroline thought little of it, glad, I suppose, to be, um, relieved of the unpleasant duty for the day.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but find me a man that can diaper like me, and you’ve found one rare son-of-a-gun. I’ve changed more in one day than most. But it wasn’t the volume of work that made me good. It was the speed that volume taught me to possess. Once I no longer had to worry about “exposure” translating into squirts of urine to the eye, my method progressed expeditiously.
Two rips and the diaper was open. As I grabbed the baby’s ankles with one hand and lifted its then-naked bottom off the changing table, I rolled up the dirty diaper with the other. Before the bottom had made it a quarter inch off the surface, the old diaper was already discarded, and a new one placed in its stead. Then after four total swipes with two different wipes, I’d lower the bottom onto the new diaper, extend the fasteners in the back, pull up the front and make the attachment. Boom. Diaper changed. Next!
And that particular day, I was on diaper-changing fire, y’all — not only because of my usual fast pace, but also because I sensed I was closing in on a new high-water mark for dirty diapers changed in a day. After everyone was bathed and in their highchair for a final snack of the day, I sauntered up to Caroline as proud as a
poopcock peecock peacock suspecting that Kirby’s pre-bath movement had likely made it official.
“What’s with the smile?” Caroline said.
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m just happy to be the new in-house record holder for dirty diapers changed in one day.”
“How many have you gotten?”
“Eleven,” I said with confidence.
“That’s nothing,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I beat that last weekend.” It turned out that my wife was already in the clubhouse with 13.
Ever the competitor, I waited and hoped and hoped and waited for something during the next hour-and-a-half that, well, isn’t anything I ever thought I’d hope for or wait on. But, alas, by the time the triplets were in bed, barring a couple of late-night surprises, the record would still belong to Caroline. Sadly, no late-night surprise would come.
So close, y’all. Yet so far. Which is why it pains me to tell you that when it comes to diapering, my wife has the all-time record for dirty diapers changed in a day. At least in our household.
Nonetheless, that next day was another active one, and though I own no single-day-poopie-diaper record, I can always hang my hat on my personal best—a two-day total of 19.
In a related story, diapering but one baby is a piece of cake, y’all. Piece. Of. Cake. Though we are entering the solid-food-era, so maybe I should knock on wood or something.
What’s your single-day-dirty-diaper record?