…Smush leaks. From either the top or the bottom. Actually she leaks out of the sides too. Sometimes I don’t even have to squeeze her and stuff squirts out. I can wrap her in diapers from head to toe and it’s not enough to curb her outpouring of, um, love.
VOMIT: Worm wasn’t this messy. In fact I can count on one hand how many times he spit up during his infancy. In Smush’s case, I can barely fit on one hand the number of times she spits up in a day. Steph tells me that my technique in holding Smush puts pressure on her stomach and makes for easy projectile vomiting. I hold her as I would hold a bunch of clothes that need to go to the laundry, i.e. stuffed under my arm. I did it with Worm and it worked fine. Besides, it makes my arms look more muscular when I carry her around the playground. I see no reason why Smush can’t follow the path that big brother has cleanly (and I stress, cleanly) set out already. (In case you’re wondering…being in close proximity of my armpits has not been clinically proven to cause nausea, vomiting, and excessive drooling.)
PEE: Little girls aren’t equipped with a firehose like the lads. It’s not like you can move any equipment around in their diaper or make any minor adjustments. Diapers and girls are pretty much plug and play. Still, I’m perplexed as to how my little girl’s diaper can barely be wet, while her pants are soaked in pee. It makes no sense. But what does make sense, is that the gods are using her body as a conduit and indirectly taking turns pissing on me for my karmic misdeeds.
POOP: We visit the zoo once a week. She manages to poop through her diaper, wiggle in her stroller seat enough to get poop up to her pits and then acts like she doesn’t know why all the flies are swarming us. Don’t even ask about the rest of the week.
On average, she’s soiling 4 bibs and 3 outfits a day. My logical mind tells me that if we can flip the materials inside out, we can cut the amount of dirty clothes in half. The worst of it is that I’m less and less interested in holding her without wrapping her in a plastic bag first. Especially for long periods of time. And if I hear any noise (or any long, still pause), my instincts cause my elbows to straighten and force the street to catch any fluid spillage. Unless, I’m in the house. Then, I just sprinkle some bacon bits over the fresh mess and let the dogs clean up. (I kid. I kid.)
Uh oh. I think I heard something…
I’m a Lady, Dammit!
Me vs. Gavin 