I am remiss for not having mentioned earlier an important milestone in my humdrum life. On Saturday afternoon, February 3, I changed my first diaper. Actually, it wasn’t my diaper, but Connor’s.
Since this was a momentous thing for which I feel, even five days later, an unusual sense of accomplishment, I am compelled to provide a play-by-play.
Allen was in the bedroom picking up in preparation for our Super Bowl party the next night. I’d been holding Connor, and it became obvious to me, as a person in whom God saw fit to install a nose, that all was not tidy in his nether regions. I could have called for Allen. But in an impulsive spat of self-confidence, probably caffeine-related, I convinced myself, “I’ve watched them do this enough. I can do this on my own.”
And so, I unfolded his little pad, arranged a clean diaper and the wipes around it, placed Connor on the pad, and proceeded to unravel this smelly mystery. People have asked me if it was an easy one, if he was just wet. No, I’ll have you know, it was not an easy one. He had soiled his onesie down his back. Which raises this question:
When it comes to babies, do you use a clinical euphemism like “soiled,” or do you just come right out and say, “He had green poop squirted clear down his back?” You decide.
Anyway, I rose to the occasion, using upwards of 75 wipes and managing to keep his little yellow-socketed feet from falling into the aforementioned soil. Suddenly, he was clean. And I, Steve Dennie, age 50, had engineered this feat which restored balance to the universe.
The most difficult part was removing his onesie. I definitely need to practice, if not receive extended instruction in, the proper technique for removing from an outfit the arms and head of a baby who provides absolutely no help. Connor grew a bit impatient with me, since I clearly took longer at this part of the mission than his parents do. But I got the thing off and took it in to Allen, pointing out the existance of soil and suggesting that we substitute something fresh and clean, as if that was only an option.
At this point, I turned the operation over to Allen, who located a new outfit and did the honors. I, meanwhile, stood watching with a grin of self-satisfaction.
Now that I am a veteran at changing diapers, I am available to conduct workshops.
Pam got a cute outfit for Connor at Target (right), even though Connor’s Mom, 
