As new parents, Christine and I often overlook some of the more mundane aspects of looking after a baby such as making sure the diaper bag is well stocked before leaving the house. Just remembering to bring it with us has proven a challenge: “Did you bring the diaper bag?” “I brought the baby; I thought you were bringing the diaper bag.” “No, I thought you were bringing it because you asked if it was packed before we left.” “I see.” “We’re an hour from home!” “Yes. That’s a problem.” So, we try to not get too worked up over the details and celebrate the small victories and what have you.
Yesterday, we thought we would head out to the farmer’s market to look for a Christmas tree ornament to commemorate Evelyn’s first Christmas. Turns out farmers aren’t big on Christmas ornaments and while regrouping in the car, we thought we would give the other farmer’s market a try. You can never have too many farmer’s markets in close proximity to each other. Christine figured she’d feed Evelyn in the car and then we could drive over. Of course, before she feeds her, we usually change her diaper. Christine was in the back seat where there was no room for changing what with the car seat taking up most of the space. I told her to pass Evelyn over and I’d change her on the passenger’s seat. She handed her over, which was a feat in itself navigating over and around the head rest and car seat. I think in fighter jet training school they call that threading the needle.
Once I had Evelyn safely in the front seat, I put down the changing pad on the passenger’s seat and laid Evelyn on top of it. She immediately slid down the seat toward the seat back. Bucket seats were apparently not designed to be used as a change table. Clearly an oversight. This combined with the encumbrance of the steering wheel and emergency brake hampering my maneuverability was just the sort of challenge I was looking for on a Saturday morning. With one hand I slid her back up to the top of the seat and with the other removed her diaper and cleaned her bum. It was about at this time when Christine, who had been watching my efforts, no doubt with great amusement, said, “She’s peeing!” So she was. I reached with both hands to grab the edge of the changing pad to contain the growing spill before it ran off the edge onto the seat. She’s in the bucket seat, don’t forget. Of course, now that I was no longer holding onto her, she began sliding down the seat, still peeing, bringing along the dirty diaper that I hadn’t quite gotten to disposing yet. Somewhere in there is a joke about BP and the Gulf of Mexico. I leave that as an exercise for the reader.
When the dust settled and I had recollected myself, the situation didn’t look too bad. I had managed to contain the pee to the pad without getting any on the seat and nothing had become of the traveling dirty diaper. Her sleeper was soaked, so that had to go, although the one-button sweater she was wearing was, thankfully, spared. I cleaned her up, dried her up, and put on a new diaper. I opened up the diaper bag to see what I could dress her in. It seems none of the sleepers I washed the day before had made their way into the diaper bag. No receiving blankets either. You become very accusing as a parent. Even if you don’t say it, you’re thinking it. So, we did what we could with what was available at the time. We kept on her sweater and wrapped her mid-section in a burping cloth. Then we went home.
