No one told me that diapering a crawler was like trying to wrangle a wet rabbit.
Cael no longer lies on the changing table like a turtle on his back, immobile and perfectly content to stare at the ceiling. Now that he realizes he can move, he insists on doing so.
There's a painting on the wall of the nursery of the alphabet with animals. For some reason, this particular piece holds him entranced with a magic not seen since the great and powerful crack star. He can't tear his eyes away. Ryan and I are under strict orders to take him to it every time we enter the room and every time we get him up from his crib. And it's a fierce battle to keep him on the changing table when he's locked eyes on that painting.
The lap belt that comes with the table may as well be a daisy chain, 'cause it does nothing to strap him down. He can wiggle out of that before I even get it snapped. No lap belt can do what ankle and wrist restraints are required for (and I'm not convinced he couldn't get out of those).
When placed on his back, his first order of business is to roll onto his stomach. Then he grabs the railings and pulls himself to the edge, kicking and squirming while trying to launch himself face first onto the ground. If you grab him and flip him back over, he simply repeats the process.
Diapering, then, requires one hand holding onto the baby at all times. Be it latching on to an ankle or bracing his shoulders, if you don't have a hand on him, he's Evil Knievel. You are left with one hand to unbutton the twenty or so snaps on his outfit, remove the soiled diaper, retrieve a wipe from the warmer, wipe, grab a new diaper, wrestle it on (they really ought to sell diapers that fasten in the back), put his legs back in the outfit, and re-button the twenty snaps.
As you can likely guess, when the diaper is well and truly soiled (say, after a hearty meal of Baby Dal, for example) this process is considerably messier and requires changing the clothes of all parties involved (including the table).
Bring your garbage sacks, Gallagher fans, it's going to get messy.
(And Baby Dal poo totally deserves a post all it's own...)
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Cael no longer lies on the changing table like a turtle on his back, immobile and perfectly content to stare at the ceiling. Now that he realizes he can move, he insists on doing so.
There's a painting on the wall of the nursery of the alphabet with animals. For some reason, this particular piece holds him entranced with a magic not seen since the great and powerful crack star. He can't tear his eyes away. Ryan and I are under strict orders to take him to it every time we enter the room and every time we get him up from his crib. And it's a fierce battle to keep him on the changing table when he's locked eyes on that painting.
The lap belt that comes with the table may as well be a daisy chain, 'cause it does nothing to strap him down. He can wiggle out of that before I even get it snapped. No lap belt can do what ankle and wrist restraints are required for (and I'm not convinced he couldn't get out of those).
When placed on his back, his first order of business is to roll onto his stomach. Then he grabs the railings and pulls himself to the edge, kicking and squirming while trying to launch himself face first onto the ground. If you grab him and flip him back over, he simply repeats the process.
Diapering, then, requires one hand holding onto the baby at all times. Be it latching on to an ankle or bracing his shoulders, if you don't have a hand on him, he's Evil Knievel. You are left with one hand to unbutton the twenty or so snaps on his outfit, remove the soiled diaper, retrieve a wipe from the warmer, wipe, grab a new diaper, wrestle it on (they really ought to sell diapers that fasten in the back), put his legs back in the outfit, and re-button the twenty snaps.
As you can likely guess, when the diaper is well and truly soiled (say, after a hearty meal of Baby Dal, for example) this process is considerably messier and requires changing the clothes of all parties involved (including the table).
Bring your garbage sacks, Gallagher fans, it's going to get messy.
(And Baby Dal poo totally deserves a post all it's own...)
