Let me preface this with the fact that for the first several weeks of Jacob's life, passers-by might have believed that we were partaking in ritualistic torture two or three times a week. Were we dipping our child in bioling oil or poking him with pins? No, no, this was far worse - we were giving him a nice, warm, bubbly bath. Can you IMAGINE the indignity? Oh, that boy would scream and scream, he'd get all red in the face and would breathe in that pathetic hitched-gaspy sort of way for hours afterward. It got to the point where we just gave him baths on the evenings when he was fussy anyway - why have two crying spells when one will do? (And he was usually so relieved to have the bath finished that he'd stop fussing about whatever else had been bothering him!)
So today I was home alone with both kids, and Jacob had one of those poop incidents that non-parents think we're making up if we try and describe them. All up the back, down both legs, THROUGH the diaper in spots, entirely destroyed his outfit and the pad for his bouncy seat is currently drying out on the deck. My daughter was happily immersed in the fascinating world of Blue's Clues for the moment, so at least she didn't get involved in this little drama.
I get Jacob up on the changing table and strip him down - that is, I peeeeeeeeled his outfit off him and threw it directly in the garbage, there is no amount of soap gonna save that sucker. And I'm standing there looking at this poor child covered in poop, and I just didn't have the heart to rub him down with cold baby wipes. (It's not like we keep them in the fridge here, but we're not a wipes-warmer household either.) And an odd thing about my son, something about being naked triggers that panicked, I-think-I'm-going-to-fall reflex that causes all 4 limbs to fly out and makes him screech. He starts to do this, and immediately starts to cry. So I stripped myself down, grabbed a baby towel and washcloth, and lugged us all into the bathroom for a quick shower. I figured it would let me snuggle him past the fright he'd given himself, and maybe I'd be able to at least rinse myself off in the process.
Well, what a success! (What a terrible post this would be if it wasn't a success! All that babbling needs a happy ending!) He quieted right down and just stared at me the whole time, even gave me some sweet baby grins. I was able to completely soap him down, even got his hair washed, and then one-handedly did my own hair, and there was no crying from either of us the whole time!
Big sigh. That's one less fear I can check off my list - he hated baths sooo much I was starting to envision the character Pigpen from Peanuts, and I was really allowing his little thigh creases and fat rolls to get quite linty before I'd subject him to cleanliness.
Plus it was fun!