Changing diapers is really just the worst thing in the world.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to go any disgusting details here – I already did so in this diaper change post and for both your sake and mine I’m hoping never to revisit the topic.
When you’re expecting your first kid, your parents will inevitably tell you of changing diapers “oh, it’s not that bad, it doesn’t last that long, you get used to it.”
THESE ARE LIES.YOUR PARENTS ARE LYING TO YOU.
Just like the time you thought it was strange that they were driving you to school instead of you taking the bus like usual but they’re all like “no, just thought this would be a nice change” and then suddenly this isn’t the way to school and then this looks like a dentist’s office and OMG! THERE’S SO MUCH BLOOD AND WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?!?
Yep, these are lies – It is that bad. It lasts forever. And you never get used to it.
And that’s coming from someone who has only changed like 20% of our household diapers – don’t even ask my wife about it or her PTSD will flare up, she’ll flash back to “the incident” and without even realizing she’s doing it, she’ll get in the shower with the water on as hot as it can go.
So imagine my delight when my lovely wife made a huge breakthrough with our son’s potty training and it looked like all diaper changing in our household was about to be a thing of the past!
Wooo! Big boy! No more diapers! Sure, there’ll be an accident here and there but I we can finally stop the endless cycle of diaper changing and douse the changing table in bleach and kerosene and light it on fire like the chemical-weapons-level threat to humanity it surely is at this point.
For going 2 full days with no accidents, his reward was to be whatever he wanted, the greatest thing he could possibly hope for – his choice of the ultimate treat, no holds barred.
And what did he choose?
Dinner out! Great!
And then, his choice of restaurant . . .
And so, here I sit, swirling my “Clucks & Shrimp” in America’s saddest little ramekin of ranch dip, poking at a wilted leaf of decorative lettuce distracting from the red of the cheap plastic basket and the brown of ALL OF THE FOOD, crying into my bottomless fries and wondering what misguided life choices led me to this moment . . .
But it still beats the hell out of changing diapers.