The Blowout

Turns out parenthood is messy!  When I chose to become a father, I did so thinking I was fully informed.  I assumed there would be some spit up; I was cognisant of the fact that Grayson would get into things like the doggy dishes, and I was certainly aware there would be poopy diapers. 

I don't think anyone, though, could have amply prepared me for the blowout diaper.  Mind you, I had heard rumors of such a thing, but I guess I never assumed they would be bad, or frequent, or that they would happen to my child.

Grayson has had diarrhea for the last 10 days (give or take).  Before you freak out, we've taken him to the doctor, who diagnosed him with a virus and told us that he will be just fine.  He isn't dehydrated; he doesn't have a bad fever.  He just has the "trots," as Grandpa Oman would call them.

Boy does it trot.  All the way up his back.  He had one on Saturday that was almost up to his neck.  Changing such a monstrosity is a two person gig.  This is mainly because he squirms so much when you change his diaper these days that if you don't have one person holding him still, he will roll around in it like he's a hunting dog. 

The first blowout is a semi-cute moment... something to cherish.  The third is a bit annoying.

The 15th is cruel and unusual.

But all of it was my choice, and I'd choose it again every day.  Twice on Mondays.