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Red Bull gives you wiiiiings!!!
Join Date: Aug 2006
Location: Margaritaville
Posts: 14,782
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Grandpa of the YEAR award right here!!!
 
Super Awesome Wow -- Article
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“The horror. The horror”.
Marlon Brando – “Apocalypse Now”
It was my first official assignment as a new grandfather, and I felt confidant that I could handle it. My mission was to babysit my now four month old granddaughter, Joss, for approximately one hour while my daughter attended to some business. She arrived at approximately 1300 hours, a rucksack on her back as large as the one I had to lug in the Army, and a portable car seat holding the adorable Joss. She was already running late, so my briefing was short and to the point…
Daughter: (laying down rucksack): She’s already due for her nap, so she’ll probably sleep the whole time I’m gone. She’s been fed and changed, but just in case, there’s a bottle, some diapers, and a bunch of her toys in the bag.
I nodded. Yes. Yes. I understood. I didn’t even feel the need to take notes. This was going to be a piece of cake, and I would come out looking like a champ. Little Joss was already starting to drift off, so we put her in the spare crib we keep in the den. Sure enough, her eyes were closed by the time she was tucked in.
Daughter: It shouldn’t take me more than an hour, so….
I held up my hand. She needed to say no more.
Me: Take your time. Everything will be fine. Go, go!
And with that assurance, my daughter left, knowing that her daughter would indeed be in good hands with Grandpa.
I’d been puttering around the kitchen for about ten minutes when I first heard it. It was Joss. She was awake. And she was crying. No problem! I got her out of the crib and held her, patting her back to calm her down, which she did virtually immediately. I put her on my lap and sat on the couch, amusing her with some of her toys. By now she was cooing and smiling, a happy little rascal if every there was one!
I don’t quite recall when I first caught a whiff of the rather unpleasant aroma. At first I thought that maybe Joss had a little gas and had just “tooted”, but within minutes a disgusting stench filled the entire room. It was a smell that would not dissipate. My daughter had said Joss’ had recently been changed, but I realized that didn’t necessarily mean much. After all, she’d also said that Joss would probably sleep the whole time I was watching her, and that obviously didn’t pan out. A slight, yet still uneasy feeling came over me.
I had no choice… I had to check the diaper. It was probably nothing, I thought as I layed Joss down in the crib. Yup, probably nothing at all, the eternal optimist in me said to myself. But to be on the safe side, I went to the kitchen and poured myself a shot of bourbon just to brace myself.
Then it was back to the den. Joss was still smiling. With the precision of a surgeon, I opened the sticky-tape on each side and slowly opened the diaper….
I began screaming like it was Halloween. Dear Lord, how could something so cute produce something so terrifyingly horrible! The contents of the soiled diaper could not be of this earth. Still screaming, I ran down the hall, back to the kitchen, where I took a Big Gulp of bourbon straight from the bottle just to try to steady myself. I was profusely sweating. I was shaking. I was scared… shitless.
 Calm down, laddie, get a hold of yourself, man! I needed a plan. I needed A PLAN OF ACTION. And then the answer came to me…. I called my wife at work:
Me: (cheery) Hi! How ‘ya doing?
Wife: Busy today. How’s it going with Joss?
Me: Oh, fine, fine. (long pause) Could you come home for a few minutes?
Wife: I’m 45 minutes away! (curious now) What’s going on?
I had no choice but to tell her the entire, horrible story. There was silence on the other end for awhile, but I could hear the rusty gears in my wife’s head turning….
Wife: I’ve got it! Call 911!
Me: What?!
Wife: Paramedics are trained to handling trauma!
Me: Christ, she shit her diaper! She wasn’t run over by a cement truck!
Wife: Well… I can’t think of anything else. (sadly) I’m sorry.
Me: (sighs) It’s okay. I’ll figure out something. Thanks, anyway.
The thing was, I actually did consider her idea for a fleeting moment, but then the thought of fire engines arriving with lights flashing would certainly arouse the curiosity of my neighbors, and word of their visit would most definitely get back to my daughter. No, that wouldn’t work. Well, so much for that idea. But then the phone rang. I quickly brightened up. Maybe she had somehow come up with an alternate plan. But my increasingly bad luck just continued…
Daughter: Hi, how’s everything?
Me: (false bravado) Great!
Daughter: Good, because I’m running a little late. Can you watch her for another forty minutes or so?
Me: (oh, shit) Oh, sure! No problem!
Daughter: Great. Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you in awhile.
The line clicked. I just let the phone drop to the floor. I was screwed. There was no way out. It was time to face the music… and the diaper.
The rucksack must have weighed about eighty pounds, and I had to drag it to the den, where Joss was still happily cooing, but it was the horrible stench that really hit me now. The sickening odor had now permeated the room, and I held my nose and opened all the windows, praying for a slight, pleasant breeze that would help alleviate my nausea. I rummaged though the contents of the rucksack and eventually found the necessary items… some fresh diapers and a box of Baby Wipes. The box of wipes were the big, economy size. This was good, because I was going to need a lot of them.
I was as ready as I’d ever be. I pulled off the diaper. The full picture was even more horrifying than the quick peek I’d initially taken. That diaper could not have held another ounce of poop. I slid the diaper out from under Joss, and then a strange thing happened. Some kind of bizarre state of mind must come over a  baby when they’re naked. Joss was suddenly… ecstatic… kicking her hammy little legs around and spreading the goop between her thighs and down her legs. I grabbed her hands from reaching downward while I quickly looked though the rucksack for a pair of a handcuffs and some kind of straitjacket that they must make these days for restraining a hyperactive baby during a diaper change. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. So while using one hand to hold Joss’ hands by the wrists, I used my other to reach for the Baby Wipes, and proceeded to wipe… and wipe… and wipe. The pile of soiled cloths began to make a stack that could rival the great pyramids of Egypt, but I eventually had her cleaned up, and then quickly wrapped a fresh diaper around her. I checked the clock. It had taken me almost thirty-five minutes. I miserably realized that I’d come in a distant last if Diaper Changing were to someday become some kind of bizarre Olympic event.
I carefully dropped the used wipes into the fouled diaper. But my mission was only partially completed… I still had to so something about the reeking stink that had seemed to envelop the entire house by now. I found a can of Oust in the bathroom, and a can of Lysol under the kitchen sink. Like a gunslinger, I held a can in each hand and roamed the hallways, virtually fogging each room as I passed it. It seemed to help a little, but there was still a lingering smell. It was then that I realized that I’d done things ass backwards… I had to get that diaper out of the house before I could completely clear the air.
I checked on Joss first. She was now peacefully sleeping in the crib. Well, she was either sleeping or had passed out from the disinfecting fogging I’d performed. Time was of the essence now. My daughter would be back shortly, and I had to dispose of the evidence before Joss possibly woke up again. Using two fingers, I gingerly picked up the diaper by the corners, and held it at arm’s length as I walked outside.
Even in the great outdoors the foul smell was nearly overwhelming. On top of that, we were going through a wicked hot spell, and since my garbage had been picked up just the day before, leaving the diaper in a closed trash can to bake like it was in a Dutch oven for a week was most certainly out of the question. Every garbage man I’d ever met hated their job, and if they got a nose full of that can the next pick up day, I knew they had ways to retaliate. No, I needed to come up with yet another PLAN OF ACTION… and so I did.
I went to the garage and grabbed a shovel. I climbed over the fence that adjoins my house to the yard behind the garage of my next door neighbor, Carl. I took a quick peek toward the front of his place, and saw that his car wasn’t there. He wasn’t home. Grabbing the shovel, I began to dig… and dig… and dig. When the hole was finally deep enough, I scooped up the diaper with the shovel and dropped it in. Then I began to shovel the large mound of dirt back into the unholy pit I’d created.
At first I was just going to leave it like an unmarked grave in Potter’s Field. But then I thought that maybe  some day Carl might decide to plant a vegetable garden or something back there, and the thought of tomatoes growing in that hazardous soil sent a chill down my spine. Back over the fence I went. I rummaged through the garage until I found the necessary items. Another climb over the fence, and I set up what I considered to be fair enough warning to Carl or anyone else who might wander back there. Naturally, if confronted, I would disavow any knowledge of “what is that?”, and instead blame it as a probable practical joke carried out by one of the local teenage hooligans in the neighborhood.
The clock was ticking down. I tossed the shovel back into the garage, ran to the house and peeked at Joss, who was still sleeping, then went into the bathroom and wiped the sweat off me with a cool, wet towel. I even noticed that the house almost smelled normal again. Minutes later I heard my daughter’s car pull up. I did a quick glance for any lingering evidence of The Incident, but all was in place. My daughter came in, and I ushered her to the den to show her the sound asleep Joss.
 Daughter: Was she any problem?
Me: (feigning surprise at the question) Problem!? No, not all!
My daughter put Joss into the car seat, and I dragged the rucksack of cement outside and loaded it into the car. My daughter gave me a big hug and kiss.
Daughter: Thanks a lot, Dad. I really appreciate it.
Me: Hey, anytime! That’s what grandfathers are for (chuckle-chuckle)!
I stood in the driveway, waving and smiling as she pulled away. Then I went back into the house. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I poured one more shot of bourbon, and toasted myself to a job well done, before collapsing onto the couch for a well deserved nap.
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10-08-2008, 08:43 AM
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