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Squirmy wormy

Written by: Suzanna Palmer July 08 2012 I’ve never been one for nicknames. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a nickname, and I never really planned on giving one to Jacob. But then along came “J-cub.” I don’t remember if it was mine or Tom’s idea, but whoever started it, it stuck. It’s cute...

Written by: Suzanna Palmer

jcrop previewI’ve never been one for nicknames. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a nickname, and I never really planned on giving one to Jacob. But then along came “J-cub.” I don’t remember if it was mine or Tom’s idea, but whoever started it, it stuck. It’s cute and sweet and maybe even a little clever. This stands in complete contrast to his other nick names that have come about in the past eight months (undoubtedly out of some moment of motherly exhaustion). There’s Mister Bister, Moocher Boocher, and Silly Billy.

I know; I know. Completely ridiculous. But it’s not those names that have me concerned. (Though, give it a few years, and I’m sure they’ll be concerning Jacob plenty.) His only earned nickname is the one that has gotten my attention lately: Squirmy Wormy.

For months now, during diaper changing time, my sweet little J-cub magically and inevitably turns into the dreaded Squirmy Wormy.

There must be something awesome that I don’t know about wearing a wet or soiled diaper, because Jacob is bound and determined to avoid having his changed at all costs. From the moment I scoop him up and he senses a diaper change is imminent, he begins flailing about like a fish out of water. During the next minutes, World War III erupts on our changing table, bed, floor, or wherever the deed is about to be done.

At first, holding his ankles up in the air worked pretty well. But over time, he developed abs that could rival any athlete or actor in the business. With legs suspended mid air, he would twist to the side, until his entire body joined him in the air and only his head was touching the ground. I’m sure to the average observer, it looked like we were putting him through some sort of ancient Chinese torture ritual.

I’ve tried distracting him with songs, toys, you name it, but to no avail. The only thing that seems to work is getting it done quick or handing him the folded-up, used diaper to hold while I finish, but, Tom disapproves of the latter method. So, I only use it when he’s not looking.

Though most of the time I’m at least able to keep Jacob within an arm’s length during changes, there are times when he manages to escape. And, as quick as he rolls over, he’s up on his knees and out of the gate. (I’m quite sure that there is some unwritten rule of the universe that the more naked a baby is the faster that they move. Something to do with reduced air resistance.)

There have been days that his wriggling ways have been so bad that we’ve had to double-team it on diaper duty, and even then, four hands doesn’t always seem like enough.

In all of the craziness, I have discovered that there is one benefit to our little guy’s squirmy wormy ways. It has turned the menial task of diaper changing into a challenge of wits and strength, so that when the job is finally done, I’m overwhelmed by a sense of personal relief, accomplishment, and satisfaction.

Oh, the joys of motherhood.

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