November 29, 2011

Not to be Confused with the Used Diaper Smell

Now that turkey day is over and I'm gearing up for all of the chocolate and mistletoe that I can possibly cram into the next month, I have begun rigorously training for a particularly momentous event. Any day now, Pampers will send me an email begging me to be their spokeswoman since their social media crew will have gotten wind of my undying love for their product. Discovery of my obsession and my diaper-related ramblings here on the blog will leave them open-mouthed at just how dedicated I am to their amazing diapers, how I discarded cloth and Huggies like yesterday's onions and practically salivate at the thought of cracking open a new pack of diapers. To top it all off, given the vocal practice I've had recently had hollering into the playroom that WE DO NOT BASH THE WALL WITH OUR ROCKING CHAIR!, I should be able to muster up an impressive acceptance speech.

Really, I'm just in love with the New Diaper Smell. Not to be confused with the Used Diaper Smell. Please note that mixing the two of those terms could cause permanent nostril damage unless you are using a diaper to sop up an entire can of Diet Pepsi spilled in your vehicle by a certain toddler who thought that Mama's drink was JUICE!!!

Not that I'm speaking from personal experience on that front. Because if I was, the only word I would use to describe that experience would be absorbent.

Back to training. Last week was one of my biggest diaper training sessions to date. We were out to dinner with the hubs' family and I had arrived prepared: three diapers for Evelyn, one for the toddler. Naturally, as soon as we walked through the restaurant doors, I saw the tell-tale concentrated look on the little man's face and it was off to the ladies' room for us.

I pulled off his diaper (reeking of Used Diaper Smell, I will have you know) and fearfully strapped on his new one, seriously regretting the fact that I had only brought one extra with us. And lo, inspiration struck.

I grabbed a paper towel and stuffed it on the inside of his diaper, pulled his jeans back up, and had just enough time to put away the baby wipes and changing pad before Nathaniel looked up at me with those chocolatey brown eyes and said the one word my heart feared most.

POOP.

One whiff confirmed my fears and it was back up onto the changing table. As I examined the wreckage, I thanked my lucky stars that I had thought to use a paper towel to extend the life of his diaper. That brown piece of paper went into the garbage, a new one went into the long-suffering diaper, and we went out to sit down at our table.

Fast forward five minutes after we've placed our order and Evelyn began to fuss. Anticipating the usual public nursing session, I pulled her out of the carseat only to have my hand come into contact with what was arguably one of her worst blowouts yet.

Once again, to the bathroom we went where I cleaned the little lady up and changed her clothes. It was Pampers to the rescue as she happily cooed and chatted away as we snapped up a clean onesie and packed away her permanently damaged clothing.

Back at our table, I sat down and ate approximately three bites of pizza when the toddler looked at me from across the table. I just knew what was about to come from his mouth. I cringed, tempted to plug my ears and feign ignorance. His sad little eyes looked up at me and with a mouth full of pizza he said it.

POOP, MAMA.

Never has the expression crap been more true. As I pulled Nathaniel out of his high chair and began the very familiar walk back to the restrooms, I hoped very hard that Pampers would stand up to our test. It was either that or go without a diaper and, let's face it, potty training is just not happening around here yet.

Clean up round four commenced with a cranky toddler who wanted nothing more than to be eating his pizza and juice, but Pampers didn't fail us. With a new paper towel acting as a diaper liner, we were back at the table in no time and ready for whatever Mother Nature could throw at us.

While it may be true that I spent more of that meal in the bathroom than at the table itself, I consider it time well spent. After all, when I get that call from Pampers offering me a lifetime supply of free diapers, my nostrils will be so far gone that I could change a small army of babies without batting an eye.

Fine print: I wasn't compensated in any way to write about Pampers, but now that I'm an adult, I get excited about weird stuff. Like trips to the hardware store, getting to go to bed early, and, of course, diapers.

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