Diaper Calamity

Jack makes a habit of crapping in his diaper. Its a baby thing. According to several online resources, and our pediatrician, this is normal expected behavior (which goes a long way towards explaining the intent of diapers). I don't judge him for it. Babies do baby things, and he is a baby. We embrace all of his baby functions; those that are crap related, and those that are not.

For a period of approximately 36 hours, Jack made the decision to not exercise his god-given crapping privelege. Instead, he let it back up like a tunnel during a traffic jam. As the hours ticked by and he cooed, slept, and flailed his happy baby limbs, internally a disaster was in the making. I can't imagine why Jack decided to embark on this excrement crusade, but I know he had his reasons. Perhaps someday he will share them with us. Perhaps not. That is completely his decisions and is, regardless, irrelevant to this analysis. The fact is that he clenched the appropriate muscles and kept them clenched for a normal than average period.

He held it.

And held it.

And held it.

And, at last, he let it out. What triggered the sudden release? Again, that's irrelevant, but when the bowels released and the evacuation began, there was no stopping it. The damn had been opened, and there was no defense. Fortunately for civilized man, the diaper apparatus was in place and performed its job admirably. It was only after the deed had been done did I get my first exposure to it.

I've been on this good earth long enough to see and hear some horrible things. Famine. Disease. Country Music. Genocide. Opression. Terrorism. The Star Wars Prequels. Those atrocities remain as atrocious as they have always been, and I don't mean to belittle their signficance. However, a new soldier has joined their ranks: the diaper full of green and yellow crap. Evil is evil. Evil is absolute. Once something has been classified as evil, there is to means to compare it to anything else that is evil. This doesn't in anyway lessen the significance of terrorism and country music, nor does terrorism or country music in anyway negate the diaper full of crap. They are all on the same team; the same evil team.

I didn't realize it at the time, but as I peeled away the velcroe straps from the diaper, it was as if I was opening the gates of hell. And once the gates were open, there was no turning back; I was now an unwitting knight on a bold new crusade. First came the smell. Then came the visual onslaught. A lesser man would've turned away; I could've resecured the diaper as if none of this had happened, then tell Gina "I think he needs to be changed", but what type of family man would I be? Why should we both be traumatized? As I stood there, my eyes fixated on the stuff that no one should ever see, Jack looked up at me. Was there a hint of mocking in the twinkle of his eye? Did the corner of his mounth curl up just a little bit? Perhaps just enough to suggest it was a knowing smile, but not enough to confirm my suspicion? Or is this just all the paranoia of a man brought to the brink of his sanity by a crap that weighs more than the baby himself? These questions all weigh heavily on my soul, and will be pondered as I become older and wiser.

The cleanup process was traumatic, but my will power overcame my body's natural inclination to start running and never stop. I remain positive in front of my family, as if this didn't happen. I laugh when i'm supposed to laugh. I smile, when I'm supposed to smile. I talk when its time to talk. But its not as natural as it was; its forced. I am now less of a person and more of an actor. The very essence of my being has been altered, and I only hope I can keep this new darker version of myself in check. But, sometimes when I find myself alone with my thoughts, I involuntarily curl up into the fetal position and cry myself inconsolably into the night.

The pediatrician assures me that 36 hours is not constipation; Jack may have been a little bit backed up, but that's nothing to be concerened about. Clearly, the doctor has not seen what I have seen. He hides behind the walls of his practice seeing the children for only a few minutes at a time, protected from the biological calamities. Does he know what evil lurks beneath the diaper? Is he blissfully ignorant, or does he too put on the happy face for the sake of appearances? It is a conversation that I would like to have with him, but may be unable to. Perhaps there is an unspoken rule among fathers, one that I was not briefed on (because its unspoken), that I am now becoming aware of through experience; a right of passage, if you will. Now, not only do I carry the burden of this horrid experience, but I am left to wonder what future "unspoken rules" will reveal themselves.

Please forgive this insight into the depths of my being. In some ways, this outburst has been a confession; in others, it has been therapeutic. I can only hope it is at least one small step on the road to recovery.