Uncharted Territory

This past weekend, I was visiting our friends Matthew and Nancy in California. We hadn’t been out there for two years and it was great to catch up. The big event in their life was the adoption of their 14th month old daughter, Alexandra. It was fun to watch her & Madeline, her 4 year old sister, play together and run around the house.

On Sunday, I volunteered to watch Lexy while the family went to church. Since Lexy hadn’t been behaving well at mass and I thought I’d give them break and spend some one on one time with her. There was a small event afterwards as well, so I only had to keep her busy for two hours.

And after all, I have a kid so how much trouble could it be.

It was about 15 minutes after they departed that I noticed the smell. I’m the master of avoidance but the smell grew worse and worse. Parents, you know where this is going. Non-parents, now is the time to run away. Stop reading if you ever think there is a remote chance of reproduction.

I knew I couldn’t last for an hour so I reached over and pulled the diaper back. Yeppers, a mushy one; mushy and stinky.

Nancy had run through the routines; “Diapers and wipes in the drawer.” I’d baby sat for Madeline early on so I knew the layout. I lifted Lexy up and opened the changing table and there were the diaper, but no wipes. No exactly; there were Clorox wipes.

I cocked my head. I’m not a brain surgeon but even Nancy would be that stupid to use those, correct? No way was I going to chance it.

Put the stinky kid down, get 5 wet paper towels and we’re back in business. Up she went, off came the pants and opened the diaper. OMG, this was worse than initial findings reported. It was everywhere.

Lexy was being a trooper. Many kids, mine included, would twist and turn just making it worse. She laid there quietly as Uncle Steve struggled to wipe up as much as possible with the shredding paper towels.

I was down three towels and hadn’t even made it past the first leg. Trouble was brewing and I feared that panic would set in. The last of the paper of towels was gone and there were still remnants that needed wiping. I noticed the box of tissue. Necessity being the mother f**ker of inventions, I grabbed a handful of Kleenex.

Ever try to wipe poop with dry tissues? Nope, not happening. They all ripped and I had to throw them away. The diaper genie was now overflowing with brown stained items. I grabbed another bunch and just spit in them. Gross as it may be, it worked and she was clean. Or so I thought.

Now I have a son, so any place poop can go… well ... is visible. I realized that is not the case with little girls. I looked in the girl parts and… OMG, BLECK.

Now panic sets it. I can’t use spitty tissues there. Drastic times call for drastic measures; I must make her portable. I strip my shirt off, grab the kid and head to the kitchen. Quickly five more paper towels fall into the sink. I soak them and run back to bedroom, dripping water the entire way. Again, I gasp at the impervious smell and clean the remaining grossness.

An hour later, Matthew and Nancy call to say they are the way home. Another stinky arrives about the same time, but I figure if the windows are open, survival is possible. Ten minutes later, as Nancy changes Lexy, I described my dilemma. I am pointed to the secret compartment in the drawer that contains the wipes.

When I get to the part of my anatomical discovery, Matthew rolls his eyes and says, “Of course that’s an area you’d have to check.”

Exasperated, I look back. “Well excuse me if the vagina isn’t something I’m quite familiar with.”

He thought a moment. “Point well taken.”