I have a delightfully, wonderfully placid baby but she hates being changed. I can understand why. I’m beginning to hate it myself.
I don’t want her to get cold and cry so I only half undress her unless it’s absolutely necessary to do otherwise. Unfortunately, trying to undo press-studs that seem lined with superglue at 4am is never a pleasant experience. Wrestling her clothes off makes her scream. And flail. And that’s a real help.
I soothe her before continuing. As I start to clean her, she explodes into a paroxysm of wailing and kicking. I hold her ankles with one hand and try to wipe her little bottom as she contorts herself wildly. It’s not pretty. Or calming in any way whatsoever.
But here’s the best part. When she’s clean, and I’m steeling us both for dressing. She pees. They warn you about Little Boys spraying - but no one, no one, mentions the watery volcano that erupts from Little Girls. It runs everywhere; soaking her clothes and the clean nappy and flooding the changing mat. Great. Now you have a screaming baby who’s seemingly wet head to foot in her own piss, your carefully prepared stores all gone and the only clothing to hand is a beautiful knitted cardigan (age 8 and over) from Great Aunt Sarah.
When it’s all over, Baby falls immediately into a blissful sleep, leaving me to rock back and forwards, sobbing quietly and waiting for dawn.
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