Wednesday, March 26, 2008

The Manny Tapes

Unfettered and without a whole tv dinner to clean up down below, I'd guess I can change a diaper in about 11 seconds. Tabtabdiaperoffwipepowderdiaperdiaperontabtabdone! Luckily for me the boy knows this and, refusing to see me rest on my laurels and settle into complacency when he knows that someday this may become an Olympic event, on a daily basis he tries to make this little process as mind-blowingly difficult as possible. Let's be honest - this should be the one thing he knows how to do by now. Several times a day, every day since he was born he gets changed. He knows this: "if I just lie still for about 15 seconds, my body will be free of my own urine and feces and I can go back to enjoying whatever I was enjoying (most likely watching the Manny act out scenes from Barbara Cartland novels.") But no. Thankfully he knows he has a job to do, which is to make sure my skills stay sharply honed while under duress.

First comes the shaking and screaming and crying. Cause he has to pretend, of course, that he's never had this done before. Like Marines going through the obstacle course with machine gun fire over their heads, he makes sure I have a high-pitched shriek going into each ear to disorient me and drive my blood pressure up so that blood squirts out of my hair. Sweet!

Then comes the rolling from side to side. This is usually when I have one tab of the diaper off, so as to make getting the second one off as difficult as possible. He'll roll as quickly as possible to one side, seeming as if he wants to jump off the changing table. "I can't live like this, I'm breaking out!!!" Of course he doesn't actually wanna jump off the table, but my having to react fast will only help me in any qualifying contests. So now I gotta grab him and get him on his back again. But before his back touches the table, now I hafta make sure that no shit went flying out and is lying there, waiting to be made into a pancake by his back; therein me missing it and spending the next 3 hours repeating "did you shit again? jesus...did you shit?" constantly checking every 45 seconds and of course I see nothing in his diaper, and miss the lurking shit on his back. The veritable sock against the side of the dryer, if you will.

So now I got the bad diaper off and gotta get the fresh one on. Basically a repeat of the above, except that during the rolling flip now he desperately tries to hide one of the diaper tabs so I have to dicker around for it. All, of course, while having my ears pinned back by his shrieking.

Luckily (again) for me he's added a new move to his repertoire so as to not let me get too cocky. Since he's gotten longer, he can actually reach me with his legs while lying down ont his particular table. So usually once the fresh diaper is on and I start to put his pants or onesie back on, he'll straighten out his legs and heel-kick me in the stomach. And he's long enough now that if he catches me off-guard, it actually pushes my arms back and I may drop whatever I have, such as the last snap in a 9-snap outfit, therein pulling all the other snaps out and making me start over again. Joy! Or, sometimes, the tab on a diaper. Once I pass this last bit, my test is over. The second he's all snapped up and I start to pick him up from the table, miraculously the crying stops, his face is dry and once again his face goes from "ohmygod Godzilla is outside the house!!!" to "pork belly futures, down an 1/8th I see, hmmm...."

So I'd like to take a second to thank the boy for never taking it easy on me. It's like he always says, "To reach one's summit in the arch of triumph, you really smell like a bag of dicks today Manny faggot!" Sigh.

"Hahahahaa!! Kicking your stomach?!! I'm trying to get to your nuts, you fat fuck!!!"

No comments: