As I mentioned in passing, last week, Pampa AKA Papa AKA my Dad volunteered (please note the word VOLUNTEERED!! was not coerced or threatened) to take care of O from Wednesday to Friday. The daycare was closed (a slight surprise for us as they didn’t mention this when we started), and we were at an impasse on who to watch our lovely angel. DH and I discussed that we didn’t want to send her to Titi because that would just fuck with her mind. Not since she’s talking about Titi and Nanna (the other girl at day care), so I either had to take unpaid leave or have Granma or Papa volunteer. So I guess, in that sense, he was coerced. I mean, he would never leave his eldest born swinging in the wind. (This is what DH has to look forward to when O is my young age of….)
Anyway, so he drives down, I wait for him at home. As we are about to leave the house, he says to me, so what do I do with diaper. OhOhhh…. This is not a good start. So I show him briefly. What if I have to go to the bathroom? Well, you take her with you. In the men’s room? Yes. What if she has to go. Here is her seat, you put it on the toilet seat and you plop her down. In the men’s room? Yes. You can’t take her to the girls room. Ok, I just won’t drink anymore coffee. He then proceeds to pee about 5 times in 20 minutes that he as at my house.
So off they go. He dropps me off at work. O is a little whinny, but I put her video on. Apparently she passes out the whole drive, and only woke up when she got to my parents’ house where she proceed to complain that her movie was off. So the long week begins. The first day, my dad calls me every 2 hours to inform me of their activities. I think he survives the first day becuase of the novelty.
Then the 2nd day begins. From what I understand she was her usual charming self. Refusing to eat, only wanting movies, being over stubborn. Apparently, my dad puts her in time out, and tells her she can’t move until she finishes her breakfast. She finishes, and then asks for a movie. Pampa says no because she was not listening in the morning.
Then she does a poop. What did he do about that the day before? Apparently my mom was there each time she did a poop. So this is how I picture it in my head. I hope it really happened this way because… well, you’ll see.
She informs him she did a poo and wants a pull up. He doesn’t know what a pull up is. So problem one. But then he gets a lovely whiff of her shit-filled diaper. He panics. He has no idea what to do. And it’s a big one! The day before I explained how there is velcro along the side of the pull ups so he can easily remove them. But where to place her to do the deed. He runs around, and grabs a towel. (At this point, I’m surprised that O didn’t say, No, Papa. You do it like this. And proceed to change her own diaper. Scuse me, PULL UP!) He puts her on it, and opens the pull up. The wiff I can only assume it’s overwhelming considering the last time he changed a diaper was
36 29 years ago. If he did then at all. So then he realizes that he opened up the pull up too soon. He doesn’t have all the equipment required near him. So with her legs in air, and poo just covering her bum, he tells her not to move. She probably giggles. Papa, what are you doing, Papa?? In her head, she is laughing hysterically at how unorganized he is. He has to wipe her with something, but he forgot about the wipes. (Later on, I am not sure why, the wipes become his Achilles heal.) He runs to kitchen and grabs paper towels. (This should be in a sitcom.) He starts wiping. But it’s making a bigger mess. How can this small child produce such foul smelling and smearing stuff? Now in their bathrooms, they have these toilet seats, these Japanese toilet seats, that can double as a bidet (apparently, it’s all the rage in Europe). So my dad, takes his granddaughter, and puts her on the toilet seat and starts the bidet to clean her butt. O found it quite entertaining. And voila! He survived his first poopy diaper change. He calls me and tells me about his adventure. But, Dad, why didn’t you use the wipes? Oh, I forgot about the wipes. And, Dad, there is a mat in her diaper bag, that you can put down, and you place her on there. Oh. I didn’t know.
By the time we met up on Friday night, both Papa and Granma were ready to relinquish control back to us. At least now we can stop hearing, You are too tough on her. I guess after spending two full days of tantrum central, not eating, not listening, of I NO LIKE YOU A-NY-MORE! their tune has changed. But at least they have good practice for their vacation with her in a few weeks. Now they know. My mom said, I think we will be a bit stricter with her. Mmmm, yeah, you should! Anyway… ce la vie!