Often I wonder what difficulties parents of ordinary kids Calvin’s age grapple with on any given day. Perhaps they wrestle with lying, or bullying, or stubbornness, greed, mischievousness, sloth, argumentativeness, apathy. I started thinking about it when Michael and I were struggling with Calvin while changing his dirty diaper.
He’d had what we call a blowout ... and it was massive. We were headed home from a Sunday drive when the shit hit the fan, so to speak. It wasn’t hard to tell from the thick aroma filling the car—along with Calvin’s writhing mania—that we were in for some trouble. It soon became clear that the lava had flowed up and out the back of his diaper and onto the car seat. Somehow Michael managed to get him upstairs unscathed. But changing the diaper of a wiry, shrieking, three-and-a-half foot imp who is spazzing and flapping and tensing and trying to grab his poop-covered wienerschnitzel all at the same time is not easy. So Michael took the helm, held his arms fast and lifted his legs while I began swabbing the poop deck. But there was so much crap everywhere that we realized we’d have to hose him down in the shower.
After the water draining off of Calvin’s body ran clear we dressed him and tossed his soiled clothing into the laundry. When the cycle finished I transferred it to the dryer and found a few soaking turd-stained peanut halves in the bottom of the basin. I fished out the nasty nuts with a plastic bag and tossed them into the garbage. When I told Michael what I’d found he asked me, “Did you eat them?” to which I replied, “No, but Rudy might’ve,” knowing that one of Rudy’s favorite treats is cat dung.
And though we might not have to battle a naughty or misbehaved kid I imagine we are going to have to struggle with Calvin’s dirty diapers for a number of more years—perhaps forever—if he doesn’t begin to make more progress, learn faster, develop further. And a lot of that depends upon how many seizures he has and how many drugs he must continue to take in an effort to keep them at bay. Needless to say, that shit sure stinks.
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Give to cure epilepsy: http://www.calvinscure.com
He’d had what we call a blowout ... and it was massive. We were headed home from a Sunday drive when the shit hit the fan, so to speak. It wasn’t hard to tell from the thick aroma filling the car—along with Calvin’s writhing mania—that we were in for some trouble. It soon became clear that the lava had flowed up and out the back of his diaper and onto the car seat. Somehow Michael managed to get him upstairs unscathed. But changing the diaper of a wiry, shrieking, three-and-a-half foot imp who is spazzing and flapping and tensing and trying to grab his poop-covered wienerschnitzel all at the same time is not easy. So Michael took the helm, held his arms fast and lifted his legs while I began swabbing the poop deck. But there was so much crap everywhere that we realized we’d have to hose him down in the shower.
After the water draining off of Calvin’s body ran clear we dressed him and tossed his soiled clothing into the laundry. When the cycle finished I transferred it to the dryer and found a few soaking turd-stained peanut halves in the bottom of the basin. I fished out the nasty nuts with a plastic bag and tossed them into the garbage. When I told Michael what I’d found he asked me, “Did you eat them?” to which I replied, “No, but Rudy might’ve,” knowing that one of Rudy’s favorite treats is cat dung.
And though we might not have to battle a naughty or misbehaved kid I imagine we are going to have to struggle with Calvin’s dirty diapers for a number of more years—perhaps forever—if he doesn’t begin to make more progress, learn faster, develop further. And a lot of that depends upon how many seizures he has and how many drugs he must continue to take in an effort to keep them at bay. Needless to say, that shit sure stinks.
Please share.
Give to cure epilepsy: http://www.calvinscure.com
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| Just so you know, that's a chocolate donut |
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