For the first time in 8 years, I do not have the overwhelming feeling of dread when I smell the air only to realize someone needs changed. There are no more wipes, no more rash ointment, no more plump saggy bottoms. Just a toilet that has seen its use triple in this past month and a toilet paper roll that can’t seem to ever stay full. Charmin is making a fortune off of my family alone.
We are diaper free. During the day, anyway. Because Abby still doesn’t stay dry at night. That’s a small hurdle that we’ll jump over in time.
I would like to say that it’s a relief, this new-found diaper freedom. Except I am still an integral part of my children’s bathroom activities. They call me in to show off the product of their hard work, like I’m supposed to be impressed. Reminders have to be given, public restrooms scouted at first entrance, extra clothes packed just in case. I still have to wipe to make sure bottoms are clear. After 8 years, my hands remain far from clean.
The last thing I need is another kid that poops its pants.
My daughter made this past Christmas the year of the doll. She asked for 2 baby dolls from the big jolly guy, and her wish was granted. And then some. My mother noticed the easy opportunity in front of her, and took it.
“I couldn’t tell, is that one of those dolls that wets itself? Because I was hoping it is”, my mother wondered with a clever smirk as Abby covered herself in unwrapped paper and I glared her down with a look of pure evil.
My mom thinks she’s so funny.