Yes, you read that right, I think my boot must have pooped. I have (very reluctantly) done some due diligence on blogging, SEO, appearing in searches, and all that nonsense I don’t care about but frustratingly explore in order to reach more readers. Anyway, I read some gibberish on choosing proper blog titles to ‘appear in google searches’ and ‘appeal to the masses’, whatever that is. Now each time I make a headline in my post, I reactively think about its SEO appeal and I usually end up laughing because taking into consideration important items like that just really isn’t my style. So I wrote today’s title, My Shoe Must Have Pooped, and wondered what the heck kind of Google search would turn up today’s drivel? Maybe some guy stepped in dog crap this morning and was confused?
I digress horribly, as usual. I came home from work today and was met with a puzzling sight. My two-year old Eliza received a baby doll a few months ago and has really mastered the art of diapering that plastic bum. It took many fatherly tutorials (you read that right) but that baby doll never springs a leak or pops a diaper strap anymore. I walk into the house today and discover that the baby doll and my own two daughters are just 3 of many now wearing diapers. The Curious George plush had a diaper on. Elmo had a diaper. Her stuffed frog was strapped up. A nighttime diaper for Lionel the mountain lion. A diaper strapped to the leg of the stroller. And yes, a nicely tucked knockoff diaper affixed to my boot was waiting for me when I made it to my room.
My wife, in the midst of her maternity leave, had little to offer beyond “Hey, maybe she can babysit now,”. Me, every the tightwad, looked around at $3.72 worth of diapers adorning half the inordinate objects in our household and quickly made my wife promise that they would be reused (not sure why that earned such an eye roll but whatever). After being escorted through the house to view all these diapered success stories, my daughter disappeared into her room, most likely seeking the diaper cream to kick things up a notch.
Perhaps I’m an over thinking parent or maybe it is just blogging that brings out the only trace of thought I can still generate these days, but I literally dwelled on my daughter’s diaper-making capabilities for a solid 15 minutes. Never mind that her newborn sister screamed in my ear for those 15 minutes, it still registers as reflection in my mind so there. My first reaction to seeing all this diapered nonsense was the typical “awwww…my daughter is so cute and she’s probably the first daughter that’s ever done this”. My second reaction, spurred most likely by seeing Eliza juxtaposed against her newborn sister, was that of panic. Why is my 2 year old daughter diapering things? Mothering her stuffed animals? Putting the naughty toys in timeout? Mimicking my wife to her dismay?
She’s two! She needs to stay locked to this age and stop pretending like I’m going to let her grow up, let alone mother a child! It’s fun to celebrate growth when she starts walking, talking, and being cute, but I think I’m ready for her to start slowing down these milestones. I can do without the motherly instinct Eliza, please just sit down, smile, and stop learning and growing so I don’t have to ponder a future where I’m not your whole world. That’s not a world I want to live in J. Saying time moves quickly with kids is silly to even mention—it’s a worn out phrase that is more fact than expression. Nevertheless, some days it hits harder than others and it’s worthwhile to hit a quick pause, celebrate the moment, and pray that time starts to crawl, at least for a bit. Besides, Eliza, you can diaper every object in this house but you still can’t diaper yourself so you can’t be too old yet. So there it is; she has somehow manipulated me into enjoying changing her diapers. Little monster.