When I was asked to babysit for a friend's new grandson I thought for a moment, then agreed. It would be sweet to have a new baby around. For a few hours. Every once in a while...
I should have thought twice when his grandfather changed the little guys diaper for the first time. At this stage a little history is necessary. Grandpa spent his entire career responding to societies physical emergencies, first as a firefighter/EMT and inspector, then as a fire chief for ten years. Nothing phase's him. Or so we thought.
Grandpa is even prepared on the road, for someone elses emergency....
At the first sign of an encroaching odor cloud during the day in question The Son beat it for the basement with me fast on his heels. Once down there we heaved a collective heavy sigh of relief. Until,,,, we heard, "HEY, HELP THERE'S POOP EVERYWHERE!!" huh? The Son and I stared at each other in horror. Of course I immediately assessed the situation and said, " You go. It will have less of an emasculating effect on him if another guy is helping." "Oh no,' The Son says, ' YOU have much more experience." I could see this was going nowhere fast so I caved and crawled upstairs. It was horrible, and truly everywhere. Apparently diaper manufacturers think babies poop in nice neat little packets that will stay in place until attended to. They are so wrong on so many levels.
What I didn't realize was the kid would turn into a continual HAZ-MAT CONDITION.
The kid is a human poop factory. The first time I saw the look on that sweet little face I had the normal reaction. "Aw." Much like the 'smile' that is really gas, you gotta admit is an adorable little look on newborns. One almost feels sorry for them during the course of their first really difficult function in life.
It's that look of sheer concentration that puts fear in the hearts of the bravest.
Well, that normally adorable little boy is now six months old, and ever since that first adorable little face indicating he was manufacturing a load in his thankfully disposable diapers, he has the capability of emptying the entire house at the first indication a haz-mat event is in progress. The Son is the first one to flee the scene.
I've never experienced anything like it. I've had two children who were naturally, once babies. I was, at first, so confused I called friends who had children. "Hey, is it just me, or is up to four square feet of oft-times runny baby poop abnormal? Do yah think it's specific to formula-fed babies? I don't ever remember the odor being this bad." I grew weary of hysterical laughter on the other end of the line just before the "You asked for it," and the ensuing dial tone. So much for empathy.
Occasionally he throws a curve ball and just emits enough gas to run a small power plant. He smiles in his little bouncy chair surrounded by the cloud of (nearly visible) stench he himself alone has created, and beams.
It's when the cloud has hung around for a while and the kid begins to scream adults start running for cover and I get out the haz-mat equipment. Yet even with all the appropriate equipment set up in advance, much like his grandfather before me, I was ending up with poop everywhere.
OK, I'm ready, bring it on....
When I discovered normal containment means were not viable options, especially since he has started rolling around while being changed, I needed to re-invent a wheel that would save four loads of laundry every time I babysit.
Deep in my frontal lobe was the faint memory of an adorable baby quilt I had squirrelled away the pattern for, just because it looked too cute hanging over the side of a crib. Thought someday just because it was so odd I would try it, though simply due to the nature of the thing it would not be sensible for a baby.
It's constructed of layers of square flannel, cut on the bias to promote fraying along edges. The more it is washed, the more the edges fray, hence the floofier and cuter it looks. But it is made to chronically shed so I would not recommend it for an actual crib quilt. My ingenuous idea was that with all the nooks and cranny's and floof the thing would serve as a Poop-Containment-Pad (P.C.P)
by failing to allow the hazardous waste to flow outside it's boundaries.
Would yah just look at that terrain...
Luckily I had plenty of flannel fabric leftovers from pajamas I have made over the years. And soooooo.... I began cutting and sewing. By hand. My sewing machine is still M.I.A. from the last move. At last, I finished just in the nick of time. My next assignment is today. He is teething... as parents we all know what that brings with it......
His grandfather has him appropriately equipped with the fireman jammies and dalmation.
'Melo' and his totally gorgeous Mom. (She had the phone surgically removed from her hand shortly after this photo was taken... :} )
Well, today is the day for the trial run of the P.C.P.
And not a moment too soon, he's got that look not 15 minutes in.
I knew something was wrong when I couldn't write anything worthwhile and only wanted to knit things involving a lot of straight stitch... So I went for a Sunday Saturday drive.
While The Son was painstakingly cutting and applying decals I slipped out. (He Thanks you Warren for the tip :})
Little disappointed the I.D. numbers came out so light.
Though there is no snow to speak of, it was far too cold for this guy to come closer for a good photo op...
Hell no I will not come closer, buy a better camera lady......
Hi, it's not too cold for me to check for carrots....
And as long as I was in the area why not take a spin over to...
Crikey I just love tugboats, even if they are just off the sidewalk.
And extremely large anchors.... once belonged to an honest to goodness whaling ship.
While I was moseying around I decided to take a spin through some PRIME REAL ESTATE .
Ah yes, class distinction in the most final sense...
There were gorgeous monuments confirming the love of those left behind...
But despite this area having had an overabundance of stonemasons who immiagrated from Italy in the 1800's, combined with the area's love of the sea and the consequent wealth it brought to the area so long ago, this was the only indication I could find. A small one at that .
Speaking of a DEATH WISH, which I wasn't but as I said brain has been moosh these days - more than likely frozen - it was the only segway I could come up with for the latest on my reading list.
It's a new release so I only had seven days to read it. I needn't have worried. It was written by a real, honest to goodness MI6 deep undercover, retired spy. Under his real name. Therein lies the death wish, although the book jacket only alludes he lives in England. (Harumph, my foot he does!) But yah gotta know that when someone like him writes a book there is more truth than fiction goin' on.
I continue to be mystified by the three completed novels Steig Laarson delivered to his publisher and promptly dropped dead. Although he was not a spy but a journalist, there are some pretty shaky references to the global financial market. Yup, I was raised by a Conspiracy Theorist. But it's just so much fun.
Now I must be excused. I have more straight stitching, another new release,
and more wood to keep throwing in this monster as it is unfortunately not an airtight Franklin wood stove....
Stay warm, six more weeks and SPRING arrives. Yay.
This place is a safety deposit box of memories for my son and daughter, who as adults,never had the pleasure of knowing my family. And for my grandson, who may never see me through adult eyes. A place if you will, for the misc. that does not fit elsewhere.