Shattered, shattered

This morning, I found myself wondering what I might blog about today. The answer presented itself very shortly after that.

There must be a reflex in babies where, when I diaper is removed, they experience a violent urge to urinate. In the 6 days Tyler has been home, I have been peed on 4 times. I fully attribute this to the curse that my close friend, Adam, placed on me. The nurse at the hospital, before we were discharged, tried to rest my mind by saying that urine is sterile, and I could just deflect it by placing my cupped hand into the stream.

Wait. What?

Was this nurse actually suggesting that, not only do I allow my child to piss on me, but that I actually place myself in the line of fire? Does she have any idea of who I am? At all? I can't stand eating chicken with two hands, because the thought of having grease on both of my hands disgusts me. When I eat food, I wipe my mouth after every single bite of food taken. I, constantly, and chronically, clean my fingernails of any and all debris. I can't stand being kissed on the cheek if the kisser is wearing chapstick.

It would seem, to me, that the advice given should sound something like "if your baby starts peeing while his diaper is off, get the heck out of the way."

The thing is, Tyler waits until I'm digging for a baby wipe, or until I'm unfolding a new diaper. He daren't urinate while I actually have my full attention on him.

Of the 4 times I have been subjected to this cruel... uhm... torture, two times I grabbed the NEW diaper and dropped it on his winky. Man, not only was I angry that he peed on me, but he also made me waste a brand new diaper. TWO TIMES! The 3rd time was at bath time, so I was able to drop the washing cloth on him. The last time, he actually sprayed me pretty good, but I hadn't yet fully removed the dirty diaper, and was able to salvage it for some soakage.

In my entire life, I cannot recall any time where someone has urinated on me. It's just generally considered bad form, ya know? My son, apparently hasn't gotten the memo yet. So, every time that this happens, I curse Adam's name under my breath, and not always very quietly.

Sarah, on the other hand, had not yet been peed on. That is fine and dandy, but she felt the need to tell me, with an air of arrogance to her tone. The "air" to her tone was thick with "My child obviously loves me way more than you, Joe", and I sat there, defeated. It was true.

This morning, I was on the computer. Once again, I was getting caught up on my daily websites. Two rooms away, in the living room, I heard a scream. It wasn't a scream of horror, but more of shock, surprise, and fear. I never once worried for the well being of my son, or my wife, because I knew. I could see it. My vivid imagination showed me Sarah opening the diaper, telling Tyler how much she loves him. I could see the happy look on his face as he opened the gates and allowed the stream to flow. And I laughed... loudly.

But I was wrong.... Sarah trumped me.

"It's not pee", she yelled across the house.

I laughed harder. The day is MINE! I am the victor!!!

"I need help", were the next words from her.

I laughed all the way into the living room. I won't go into the graphic details, but I will say that Sarah described the "incident" as a missle. I will further say that it was a direct hit. Once again, though, there was some collateral damage. Instead of addressing the mess that was made to Sarah's clothing, I said, "This is why we shouldn't change him on the couch."

I feel that I have been redeemed.