I hate changing my daughter’s diaper. Not because it’s messy or smelly, but because it’s a struggle. When she turned about 8 months, the diaper changes went from a mundane chore to a ferocious battle. We both come away upset and often covered in poo. As soon as Baby V discovered she could reach across her body (across the midline, yay!), grab the back of the changing table and flip herself over, she did it every chance she got. I lay her on her back 10-30 times every change and she is already reaching to flip herself before I even set her down. When I grab her arm or hand, put it at her side and say, firmly, "No," she screams as if to say, "YOU’RE MURDERING ME!" Most diaper changes are wrought with tears from her and exasperated sighs from me.
Baby V isn’t an adorable little blob of Odie’s and my combined DNA anymore, like this.
She’s a little person with strong preferences and opinions of her own. And she’s a Taurus. We affectionately call her our little bull. Sometimes I say it with a shade of self-pity. I only have this one child, so I don’t know if my child is particularly stubborn or if all children are like this.
It is nearly impossible to diaper a moving baby. Nearly. Somehow I get it on every time, although I admit that sometimes I forgo the cloth diaper for a disposible when she’s being especially mobile and poopy. Sorry, Mother Earth. I try.
I sing songs, give her toys, and tickle her, but usually it just comes down to a battle of wills. Since I’m bigger, I win, but I won’t say there are no hurt feelings involved.