Pepere and the Poop

I actually wrote this about 7 years ago, but it remains one of my favorites.

The Stage: Summer, 2003

Kris is our three month old grandson, and I’m his Pepere. He thinks I’m cool and shows it by smiling brightly whenever he sees me. I think he’s way cool. I’m no contender for the Alan Alda award, and maybe I haven’t changed as many diapers as a typical teen-aged girl, but I have changed more than a few, and I’m still mostly secure in my masculinity. My wife, Ginny, on the other hand, is the Tiger Woods of messy diapers and all other grandmotherly endeavors. She’s his Memere and he is pretty sure she controls the daily sunrise – so am I.

In the realm of diapers, there are major changes and minor changes. Changing a wet diaper is minor - no big thing. Even your average bachelor uncle won’t be very challenged by a wet diaper. A poopy diaper, on the other hand, catapults the experience into an entirely different dimension. In this particular case, Kris is only three months old, so the original source of the poop is mother’s milk. The texture of the poop is that of mustard, though somewhat less appetizing. The volume of the poop defies description.


The Saga

On the day in question, Ginny and I were keeping Kris and his sister Katie. One morning I noticed that Kris’s wonderful “baby smell” had been overwhelmed and his grandmother was nowhere in sight. I’m sufficiently liberated to recognize that women are much more skilled in handling certain tasks; alas, Memere was hors de combat at this critical juncture. So, I thought, “no problem – I can do this. I’ve done it many times. Haven’t I?”

First, lay a towel down on the bedspread. (Ginny will really be proud of me for protecting the bedspread with the towel.) Now, get the kid out of this garment. What is this thing called anyway? It’s sort of like the “union suits” my dad wore all winter, minus the flap. Haven’t the people who make these things heard of Velcro? Look, Kris, I’d be squirming too if I was lying in that stuff, but you’re not being very helpful here, and I could get your foot out a lot sooner if you’d quit kicking for just one moment. OK, now that his feet are out, I can just slide the bottom part of the union suit up over the diaper and then I won’t have to get him out of the top end. Smart, Joe – you didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.

Ah ha! The diaper people have discovered Velcro. No, it’s not Velcro - it’s a kind of sticky tape. Who cares, it beats those big safety pins. So, unstick the two tapes and … whoa! That load of mustard poop must have been under pressure – two big squirts shoot out the back like lava from Vesuvius, and one scores a direct hit on a pile of clean clothes while the other overshoots the towel and smears an acre or two of bedspread. (Scratch that thought about Ginny being proud.) OK, I’ve got it – a sacrificial diaper. I’ll slip another diaper under this one, and he can lay on that while I clean him up. Hmm, looks like two or three sacrificial diapers would be safer. Just as I’m slipping in the third sacrificial, Kris enters a maneuver which is a cross between a split-S and a triple Lutz. Oh, man, there’s poop scattered from his feet to his neck. Can’t deal with that yet – besides, I can always hose him off afterward. Let’s just get this messy diaper off before any more poop gets smeared. Oh, oh, where are those wipes? I told Ginny we need to get thirty or forty boxes of those things and keep them all over the house! OK, there’s a box over on the table.

Now, I swear to God I only turned my back for two seconds to get that box, but during that time Kris managed to roll into one of the aforementioned Vesuvian squirts, grab the messy diaper (OK, I probably should have put it down further away from him), throw the messy diaper into the toy box next to the bed, and rub his face with his poop covered hand. Kris, the screaming isn’t helping, buddy. I’ve only got one nerve left, and you’re working right on the end of it. Kris! Point that thing somewhere else, man! This is a really bad time to show Pepere how far you can pee!

Quicksand – Marine Corps training - I’ve got to gain control of this battlefield! Regain fire superiority! Grab a handful of wipes and attack the poop. Wipe anything that’s yellow! (What color is that, anyway?) If it smears, wipe it!


After Action Report

Here we are in the nice big rocker. Kris is happy and cooing and looks great in his new clean union suit. Is that a little smear behind your ear, buddy. No problem. Pepere’s got a box of wipes right here next to us. Now, Kris, it’s time for your first man to man talk. You and I have got to figure out what we’re going to do about the bedroom. Demolition is the most obvious solution, but that will probably be judged impractical by higher management. OK, buddy, here comes your first lesson on interacting with the opposite sex. We’ll explain to Memere that we’re just stupid incompetent guys who can’t function without help from their beautiful, talented, graceful, and ever-so-skilled women ...