Not Changing Stinky Diagpers

Countdown to Delivery: 27 days
Due date: 4/18/10

"Daddy, can I feed the baby?"
"Certainly, my darling daughter."
"We can play and run and share my dolls."
"Well, yes, Taylor, but the baby won't be able to play with you for a long time."
"Why Daddy?"
"She will be too little!"
"Well, I'm not changing any stinky diapers!"

Oh, my precious little one.  How we are about to rock your world!  Should the planets no longer spin around their axis, what do they do?  Wobble?  Fall apart?

When Taylor was born I made it a point to share in everything.  Mommy and I washed her, fed her, rocked her and each of us did our share.  But the diapers were the hardest for me.  How many times I wished I could shout "that is woman's work!" and still keep my head mounted to my shoulders.  I would exchange chores for not having to change the baby.  Heck, I'd cook and do dishes just not to have to change one poopie.

What I thought was a blessing, my keen sense of smell, was actually a trick played on me by God himself.  See, he knew he was going to give me children.  My heightened sense of smell, the only redeeming quality I have, was set against me from the start.  I can pick the top notes out of an expensive perfume, tell from the exhaust what is wrong with a car and find the real sailor in a bar because of his Old Spice cologne.  Ok, well I've not done that actually and don't plan too any time soon.

The first time I changed the diapers it wasn't so bad.  The poopies were small and had almost no odor.  Then, as with cheese or a fine wine, the poopies ripened and fermented into a most potent concoction.  I remember the day well as is was a sunny spring morning.  My little angle was wiggling and giggling at her daddy as I opened the windows to let in the fresh May air.  So gently I picked her up as if she were made of the most delicate porcelain.  So carefully I placed her on the clean terri cloth of the changing table.  Her bright blue eyes sang a little song to me and all was so so happy.

Deep inside the layers of pulp paper, plastic fibers and absorbent chemicals laid a demon.  A thick and fowl smelling beast who's breath could kill with a word.  The diaper rattled as I removed the velcro grips.  It sprung on me like a viper and grabbed my throat.  The stench enlarged my eyes and slammed into my nostrils. Quickly I grabbed the diaper pail and the last of my manly dignity was tossed into the pail in a violent eruption.

My eyes watered as I lifted myself off the floor.  Listening for the wife...did she hear?  Did she know that I wasn't as tough as I'd lead her to believe?  Oh God, please don't let her find out.

Believing in better living through chemistry I found a bottle of Vick's Vap-o-Rub and smeared it on my face.  Then with a pair of viton gloves and a swimmer's nose clip I went back in.  Three ounces of poo will not stop me.  I'm invincible....

Yeah, right.  It would not be the only time I lost my cookies changing diapers.