Although the breastfeeding got hazardous every once in a while, this is the point in our story when things got dangerous. For some reason, I never got the your-child-may-explode lesson from all that pre-natal reading I did. No one says that little bitty babies, from time to time, poop with extreme force. Seriously, there’s a learning curve here that no one talks about.
I thought I’d at least pass along these bits of information I’ve gleaned:
#1. When you feed him about eleven, he’ll probably eat at three. It is very important to change his diaper before putting him down at that eleven o’clock feeding, or there’ll be a larger-than-expected present for the person waking up at three.
#2. If you are the one feeding at eleven, and you don’t change him, and he has a blowout at three on the “other” person’s watch, be expected to be woken up to help with the cleanup.
#3. If you are woken up to help with the cleanup, don’t get grouchy. In fact, if grouchiness is detected, cover your eyes and throat immediately, because retribution is coming.
Here is the story. I was calmly and gently feeding my son at eleven—yes, it’ s a shock that my role is the one that occurs at eleven. I was watching some late-night television and laughing as Jonah slipped off to sleep and I recall thinking, “He’s so peaceful. I certainly don’t want to intrude on his slumber.”
So, I made a terrible decision: I didn’t change his butt.
Now, here is the point where you may think, “Matt, you fool! Why didn’t you change his butt?”
Well, my response is, as always, “I forgot to change his butt.”
Or, I could always reply, “His butt was asleep.”
Or, "I didn’t want to wake his butt up.”
At any rate, I was wrong. His butt was very much awake and working overtime creating the slimy “refuse” that comes out of his very small body. (Definition of refuse: toxic, sticky substance that smells a little like my crazy neighbor’s house) Before you jump on the “laugh at Matt” bandwagon, just remember: there’s a huge faction of experts that recommend a sleeping baby NEVER be woken up. Like the rhinoceros of the wilds of Africa, the sleeping baby is usually best left alone to continue his slumber. (I have actually heard about a baby angrily charging his parents and inflicting massive bruising around the toes and ankles when he was woken up before he finished his nap.)
As for me, I didn’t wake him up and I gently placed him in his crib in his room, turned on the classical music CD that he likes to listen to, and I went to our room to snuggle with Sunday.
Fast forward about 3 1/2 hours. Out of the haze of my dreams I heard, “Matt! Get in here!” I mumbled something about African Safaris and rolled over. Then I heard it again. “Matt! Get in here!” I woke up to realize that it was my lovely wife screeching at me. I got up and ran into Jonah’s room, thinking that something had gone terribly wrong. I opened the door and encountered a barnyard smell that brought me to one knee.
Sunday was in there, ready for a fight. At first glance, I thought she was going to hurt Jonah. But then I saw the direction her anger was pointing, and it was pointing at me. Yep, she was considering knocking me out right there in Jonah’s room. At that moment, she seemed to look forward to guaranteeing that I was going to catch a few more moments of sleep, courtesy of her vicious right uppercut.
It took a while to talk her out of cutting me and convincing her to help with the crap-slick that Jonah had created in his room. As we began the cleanup effort, I felt like we should begin by recarpeting and repainting the room. It was that bad. I felt like someone had recreated the Exxon Valdez oil spill in this kid’s drawers and we were called on to wash the pollution off his little pelican.
***As a warning to those people living in the Commonwealth of Kentucky, we have placed all linens and clothes in a hermetically sealed container, which will have a dangerous half-life of 100 million years.***