Soft Ice-Cream, Baby Poop Flavoured

Since I was a late bloomer with blogging (or is that called a 'late blogger') - I will periodically share some of my stories from the last few years.  This one always makes me laugh - and helps my waist-line by keeping me away from ice-cream!!

Soft Ice-Cream, Baby Poop Flavoured

We were two new parents, with a new baby earlier in our marriage than we had planned.  It was unexpected, joyful and delicious – but not always.  Newlyweds, having a daughter in our mid 30s, required a number of adjustments and sacrifices.  All with the common intent, to embrace this unexpected gift, and put our plans on fast-track to be ready for the family we had both dreamed of.

I had been the youngest of four children in my family; born when my siblings were all in the double digits.  It seemed like I had five parents instead of two, because of my older brother and two sisters.  Two of my siblings had four kids between them when I was a teenager.  I gained loads of experience and joy in those years, feeding babies, playing with them and even changing their diapers – sometimes with a scarf wrapped around my face to hide the odor.  It is true when you hear it is much easier to change a baby of your own as opposed to someone else’s.  Whether there is a biologic explanation or simply because you have no choice; when the task is at least six times daily, parents get used to it.

For my husband, it was a different story.  He was the youngest of three, but like many men I have known, did not participate in the not so pleasant tasks of babies.  He loved and spoiled his nephews, but had never changed a diaper in his life.  All of that would change with our new child, since I was a thirty-something modern woman and would not have it any other way.

Preparing for bath-time, we were in our kitchen and family room, which were joined by a large counter, separating the two.  An ideal location to both bath the baby and hand her over to be diapered wrapped and cuddled in front of the fire to stay warm.  On this day, it went a little differently than planned.

After the bath was complete, I carefully passed our delicate newborn to my husband, over the adjoining counter.  He accepted her with care, placed her on a warm towel and proceeded to dry and prepare to diaper her.  With a baby wipe warmed in his fist, he opened his hand to wipe her bottom, and got a surprise he did not expect.  I watched the look of horror on my husband’s face as his palm became the cone, filled with what I can only describe as a slightly more yellow version of swirly pistachio ice cream.

He looked up at me, without moving his hand, as if one of my new Mom skills included turning back the clock and undoing what had just occurred.  He was immobile.  What happened next was not my proudest moment as a supportive spouse or co-parent.  A bubble of laughter overcame me.  At that moment, I was not thinking about his predicament, or the importance of getting my daughter warm after her bath.  As my husband remained in position, with the “ice-cream in hand”, I dissolved into body reeling peals of laughter.  Aside from my Kegel exercises, less than one month post childbirth, the waves of deep laughter emitting from my body caused me to lose all of my urine, right on the kitchen floor. 

What an example of parenting we were, as my husband remained at the counter with a handful of poop and I stood in the kitchen in a pool of my own urine. 

~ Sheri Gammon Dewling ~