Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Regime Changes and the Debt Ceiling

Hanging out with my toys

When I was a mere 5 months old and was still a docile baby, my parents watched as their friend Ralph attempted to change his 9-month-old boy's diaper. They took note: 9 months equals trouble. Jonathan squirmed and kicked, made several attempts to flip and easily tripled the time of this process while Ralph struggled to secure both tabs before an accident, or bodily harm, resulted. 


Little did they know, I was also taking notes. Sure enough, for the last two months I have also used diaper changing time as a time to test my agility and work toward a career in gymnastics. I have found that my time on the changing pad is the best opportunity to practice my dance moves and test my leg strength by heaving my little tree trunks up into the air and then slamming them down - sometimes smack dab into the diaper itself.


That sets off a flurry of activity and chain reactions involving horrified adults and a bewildered child. 


I don't think my parents appreciate my gymnastics. It usually sends them into a frenzy of activity as they work against me, trying to pin my legs together by the ankles and keep me on the changing pad, not rolling over the edge, and then four feet to floor. My grandma also isn't so enamored of my gym routine. After she tried to change me in my stroller, I overheard her complaining to my parents about what a challenging event this was using one hand to keep me in the stroller and the other to somehow do all the other work.


Mommy calls the whole process a "regime change" especially since we are in the part of the world where regime changes are en vogue at the moment. I guess it also symbolizes the weightiness and significance of my latest diapers - the ones that bear the true mark of a baby who has progressed to mainly solids. Mommy tries to control her grimace for the sake of my impressionable self. But abba conceals no modicum of disgust as he dramatically reacts to my offerings. I always wait with rapt attention to see the reactions. Then I begin my dance.


But everything has its limits. And mommy has decided that the debt ceiling in our household is four messy diapers a day. That feat = immediate bath, something that is not normally on the daily agenda since I "don't sweat," according to mommy's book of lazy parenting. But no amount of wipes can overcome four messes. A real dousing is necessary. Three of those sort of diapers is certainly pushing it. But it still is debatable. Four, however, and the water is running and I'm being stripped down and ready to be restored to a sweet-smelling baby. And then I can take my gymnastics show to the water. Even more fun!


The portrayal of innocence

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