It’s pretty common for combat veterans to have flashback of combat situations, where the high stress plays on the mental psyche and makes it hard to forget. Well, this is nothing as life threatening as that but this morning, I am ripped out a pleasantly stimulating slumber to the sounds of
bombs dropping The Younger saying,
“Daddy, I got a POO POO, I got a Poo Poo Daddy!”
“Oh crap,” I am thinking… eh, hopefully not literally. Where is that boy? Where is the sound coming from? What time is it? It’s 5:45am! Well, I’m not getting back to my dream… ugh. OKay, here he is. Man, it’s dark. OKay, here he is. I don’t see a dark shadow.
“Kitchen Daddy. I’m Firsty”
“No. Let’s change your diaper here,” I reply. I’m looking on the carpet for a brown trail or some other indication that we have had a breach of containment. Maybe a brown mural on the wall or some other Picasso like impressionistic artwork. So far so good. Now, it time to pat him down to check for “wetness”. I can do this as I bring him over to the changing pad. Yes, there is wetness. Now I have to determine whether the wetness is from overflow of pee (which isn’t too bad), overflow of poop (which is bad), or an unidentified overflow of unknown origin (which in all cases is very bad). Seems like it’s the first. His shirt must have wicked some pee during the night. No Hazmat team needed yet.
The Younger is stationed on the changing pad, ready for cleaning and freshening up. Now, the suspense builds much like Geraldo getting ready to open Al Capone’s vault, except in my case… there is something there. And it’s thick. I am thankful that his waste is in solid form today, on bunch of different levels. The first is that his tummy issues are going back to normal and that the sounds that resembles a whoopie cushion in a shallow pan of water should be silenced. Also, that the job at hand is a straight forward clean.
But the smell, OH, with it being solid, there are more stinky particles present. WHEW! The diarrhea looked worse than it smelled, but a whiff of The Younger, vintage 5:00am something, is not what you want prebreakfast.
But, in the end, everything came out okay and was cleaned up just fine. So we were on to the next battle… the drink.
“I don’t want Milk”
“Here’s your milk, if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I’m going to put it right here on the corner.”
“I don’t want Milk!”
5 minutes later
“I’m Firsty, I want milk!”
“It’s there on the counter.”