It's almost a part of our daily routine now. It's lunchtime or during Matt's drive home from work. I lean over and tell Patrick, "Daddy's home!" or Daddy walks in the door, and it happens. They are sounds that make me wonder if World War III just started outside our window. When I locate the origin of the noise, I find myself staring half in horror and half in wonder at my tiny baby boy. How can such a small thing make such an explosive noise--and never even open his mouth? Any experienced parent must know immediately what I'm referring to: the infamous poopy diaper.
The look on Patrick's face as he shocks us with his special present is the funniest part of my day. Gross as it is, all I can do is laugh as he poops. He smiles a smug little smile, focuses his eyes on a random spot on the wall, and strains just until his face starts turning red. He must know our reaction to the act, because the smug smile stays on his face all the way through the diaper change. He's proud of making such a massive and stinky poop.
Speaking of the stink, there's never been anything like it. I'm not worried about needing an exterminator too often with Patrick around; I can't imagine any critters wanting to get near such an awful smell. Our oh-so-wonderful Diaper Champ--oh-so-wonderful before greeting Patrick's diapers, that is--can't begin to contain the smell. The world's best air freshener can't overpower it. It's tempting to build a bomb shelter out back to store the dirty diapers until trash day, but I don't know what I'd do when I discovered the smell even leaked up through the ground. Fortunately, Matt and I have avoided the "you smell it, you change it" method. He usually smells it first. My sense of smell has diminished now that I'm no longer pregnant (for a while there, I could smell a fire ant at 300 yards), so I debate whether that really is poopy I'm smelling until I see the look on Matt's face. Then that's all I smell. I can't get the diaper off Patrick fast enough. I spare Matt the horror of changing it as he is often just home for lunch when it happens. I'd hate for him to go back to work after seeing the aftermath of World War III in Patrick's diaper.
So it seems that we don't need an Exer-pooper like Lauren's son does to keep Patrick regular. Matt seems to provide enough laxative properties on his own. His mere presence--or even expected presence--keeps Patrick's system moving smoothly. It certainly explains what Patrick thinks of him. As Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog would say, "He's a great daddy--for me to poop on!"
The look on Patrick's face as he shocks us with his special present is the funniest part of my day. Gross as it is, all I can do is laugh as he poops. He smiles a smug little smile, focuses his eyes on a random spot on the wall, and strains just until his face starts turning red. He must know our reaction to the act, because the smug smile stays on his face all the way through the diaper change. He's proud of making such a massive and stinky poop.
Speaking of the stink, there's never been anything like it. I'm not worried about needing an exterminator too often with Patrick around; I can't imagine any critters wanting to get near such an awful smell. Our oh-so-wonderful Diaper Champ--oh-so-wonderful before greeting Patrick's diapers, that is--can't begin to contain the smell. The world's best air freshener can't overpower it. It's tempting to build a bomb shelter out back to store the dirty diapers until trash day, but I don't know what I'd do when I discovered the smell even leaked up through the ground. Fortunately, Matt and I have avoided the "you smell it, you change it" method. He usually smells it first. My sense of smell has diminished now that I'm no longer pregnant (for a while there, I could smell a fire ant at 300 yards), so I debate whether that really is poopy I'm smelling until I see the look on Matt's face. Then that's all I smell. I can't get the diaper off Patrick fast enough. I spare Matt the horror of changing it as he is often just home for lunch when it happens. I'd hate for him to go back to work after seeing the aftermath of World War III in Patrick's diaper.
So it seems that we don't need an Exer-pooper like Lauren's son does to keep Patrick regular. Matt seems to provide enough laxative properties on his own. His mere presence--or even expected presence--keeps Patrick's system moving smoothly. It certainly explains what Patrick thinks of him. As Triumph the Insult Comedy Dog would say, "He's a great daddy--for me to poop on!"
1 Comments:
I enjoyed reading about Matt being Patrick's laxative. You're right, this post was pure gold :)
Hope you had a great weekend!
~Lauren
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