My little Camilla, who is a total snacker, junk food junkie and gummy worm addict, and not so little anymore, was a 4lb 4oz weakling. When she was born, she looked like one of those skinny chickens you see in the poultry store window on Arthur Avenue.
I was always so worried about her weight, that it became all consuming. Since she arrived home, three weeks early, every two hours were spent nursing and pumping and feeding and weighing. That was MY life for the first three months of HER life, then around four months, she started a speedy gain when we introduced some solids. I tried not to be, but I am sure I was a hot mess for most of it.I can’t even dig up a pic for you, because I just don’t want to.
One evening, or maybe even early morning, as the routine was, I got up to nurse her and change her diaper. I did. You know what that’s like. You turn the switch on, you make the movements like Rosie on the Jetsons, and proceed with your evening, or morning, or whatever it is at that moment, as if you even have a clue. I snapped up her little onesie pj, and brought her back to bed with me.
A few hours later, I picked her up to nurse and change again, and what the *(&^…my bed was soaking in newborn urine. Well, you know, it was just a puddle under her, which leaked on to me ... you get the picture. I thought I didn’t have her diaper on securely, or the sticky part didn’t stick…none of the above. Guess what… NO DIAPER!!!!!! I never put the diaper on her.
I put her down in a stupor on the changing table, took the old diaper off, robotically threw it in the Genie, and just snapped her up and went on my way … back to bed, never being the wiser, until we woke up in baby pee.
To this day, I have no idea, or maybe I do, how I just didn’t put a diaper on the kid … she was very cool with it, though. She just peed as she was supposed to, diaper or sans.