My Explosive Daughter
My Explosive Daughter
After being parents for a year and a half, we were now experts.
Just in time for daughter number two. We had this all figured out, so we were not worried at all. Since I now knew that babies came out face down, there would be no confusion this time.
Somehow, Milina ended up having blond hair and blue eyes, which was a little strange. My wife and I both have dark hair and eyes. Well, my hair used to be dark. Thank goodness, my wife is a quarter Swedish and both my mother-in-law and sister-in-law both have blond hair.
It was fun having another kid around especially for our oldest who quickly became a little momma. It was so cute watching Lydia take care of her baby sister. Except for the one time that Lydia bit Milina’s nose. My wife took responsibility for this incident due to her biting habit as a small child. I never bit anyone as a child so I had no problem letting her take the blame.
Then it started to happen. There was a terrible rumbling that came from my daughter’s lower region. Then a squishy noise that sounded like whipped cream coming out of the can. With the smell that followed we knew that she had soiled her diaper. What we didn’t know was that even the simplest touch to that diaper, would send the contents shooting up her back, all the way to her neck. Any slight twist or turn would also create the opportunity for what was inside to slide out of the sides. So when we laid her down to start the process, we set off the I.E.D. Icky Exploding Diaper.
We went from having normal pit stop style diaper changes to; change the diaper, bathe the baby, start the laundry almost every time we heard the squish.
If someone else were holding her and we heard the squish, one of us would shout, “Nobody move! Gently pass the baby to me!” People would freeze in confusion probably thinking that there was a cobra or tarantula in the room. Every parent would breathe a sigh of relief when we said, “Don’t touch the diaper!” Once they heard that, they knew what was up. Every parent has experienced the I.E.D at some point.
Our problem was that it was every single time. It was as if when Milina ate food it went from lips to diaper. Instead of always having an emergency outfit in her diaper bag, we had a what-do-we-want-to-have-her-wear-after-today’s-squish-outfit.
Swimming was a Problem
While swimming in her great-grandmother’s pool, we did not hear the squish. My wife was holding Milina and noticed some foreign substance that started surfacing behind her. When she realized what it was, we all evacuated the pool immediately. Thank goodness there was a shower there.
With no lifeguard on duty, no one else around, and no way to clean it up, I felt sorry for whoever showed up to swim next.
Truck Stop Triage
On the trip home we weren’t so lucky. As we were driving on the interstate, we heard the telltale squish coming from the back seat. Milina was strapped into her car seat which aggravated the I.E.D. There was nothing we could do. The smell, oh the smell. The first place I could find to stop was one of those trucker travel centers. Somehow we had to get her out of the back seat. The majority of the contents of her diaper had come out into the car seat, and of course it was all over her. My sister-in-law held a Target bag open, as my wife lowered her into it. They carried her like that into the truck stop restroom. They gave her a bath in one of the sinks. My task was to clean the car seat cover which meant I had to completely disassemble the car seat. Taking all the pieces into the men’s restroom, I gave the car seat a bath in the sink. Then with only wet paper towels, I had to clean the back seat of the car.
If you’ve carried your poop covered daughter, in a Target bag, to give her a bath in a truck stop sink, you might be a redneck.
We were at a wedding reception, waiting at one of the last tables to be summoned for the food line, when my wife heard the squish. In order to keep things fair, we would trade off on the bomb disposal. I could tell by the look on her face, that she was informing me that it was my turn. So I took her to the bathroom to change her diaper. There was nowhere to change her in there and I couldn’t bring myself to put her on the floor of a men’s restroom, so we went out to the parking lot. Using the back of the van, I went to lay her down and then I realized that I had thrown away the mat that usually comes with the diaper bag. There was no saving it from the last I.E.D. so I had to use the top flap from the diaper bag to lay her on. Of course too much movement had transpired up to this point and so it was all over her back. The only thing I could do was give her a baby wipe bath, using the entire container.
It was so bad, that I ended up throwing away her clothes, and I had to toss the whole diaper bag as well.
The Crib of Carnage
Unlike her older sister, Milina would go down for naps pretty easily. After laying her down, I decided to go outside to mow the lawn. We had a portable baby monitor so I knew she would be safe inside. After mowing for a while, I turned off the mower to see if I could hear anything. Of course Milina was crying, so I sprinted into the house to make sure she was okay. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to see. When I peeked in, Milina was looking at me with pitiful look on her face. She was covered from head to toe in poop! I’m not sure if she plopped on to her bottom setting off the I.E.D. or if she was just reaching in and throwing it around, but it was EVERYWHERE! The crib and sheets were covered. It was on not just one wall, but three. As I carried her out of her room to take her to the bathtub, we left a trail on the carpet as well as the hall walls. And yes, it was on the ceiling.
How in the world did it get on the ceiling?
After trying every diaper known to man, we finally discovered that Pampers Cruisers were the best diapers on the market for this situation. No matter what the cost, we needed hazmat quality containment.
But even with these diapers, we only had a window of opportunity.
We also discovered that milk was the culprit. When she drank it, kaboom! I.E.D.
At thirteen, she has finally outgrown her intolerance. This is a good thing because she loves milk. However just a few years ago, her requests for milk were always followed up by, “Milina, but you know what will happen next…”
Did your kids blow up when they were little?
My Explosive Daughter
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