The Battle of Diaper Change Springs
I had to yell at my son this morning.
He had a (very) dirty diaper and for some reason, even though he is in potty training and usually demands that his diaper get changed on his own, this time he decided that he just wasn’t going to have any of that and was going out of his way to actively prevent the diaper from being changed. (by the by, the kid is very fastidious, he demands to eat with a napkin and loves to wash his hands every chance he gets). He screamed and cried and mostly tried to run away and when finally grabbed for the actual changing, continued to twist away and not in any way hold still.
Needless to say the diaper HAD to be changed. If I could have waited I would have, but the crap (ahem) that happens when a dirty diaper stays on him too long is worse, so it had to be done. But damn, he was not happy about it and seemed determined to stop me. I was equally determined to get him changed and now the battle of wills and strength began in earnest.
Which is ToTaLly weird because it seems like just yesterday that I would have done anything, would have used any excuse I could come up with, to get out of changing any diaper.
As the battle raged, I managed to get his pants off of him, then released the velcro-esque side of the pull-up’s he twisted to my left and, well, lets just say the contents spilled out. Instead of power puking, which would have been my reaction just a few short months ago, I yelled at him to be still.
Not just yelled, I used my Navy trained “Command Presence,” which is a tone and voice designed and trained to immediately command respect and obedience. It has never failed to gain the desired result, which is why I go to it when I feel like the situation is almost but not quite out of control but is in danger of spinning away.
For a moment, he looked at me. Then he laughed.
But he did stay still.
I cleaned up him and the mess, got him into his clean pull ups and his pants back on. I felt bad for yelling at him; a little peeved that he had laughed at me; and more than a bit frustrated with myself for letting a two year old get me spun up. I took the residue outside and came back to find him standing there with his arms out. He ran over and gave me a hug, and said “I love you, Daddy.”
I’m not sure who has grown up more in the past two years, him or me. But I kind of wish that he could stay two years old and I could stay forty-nine years old forever…