Off Course I know What a Diaper Is
Doesn’t mean I have to change it!
Inspired by a conversation with Toni The Talker
I waited a long time to become a grandaddy to a child, but it happened, it happened late, but it finally happened. In the course of three years, I became grandaddy to four grandchildren from my daughter and daughter-in-law. The grandchildren, two are three years old, one is three months, and the girl, a couple of weeks old.
But here’s what I’ve learned. How parents raise their children today is a far cry from how I recall raising my children. So much has changed from the sixties till now, and not for the better.
When the first of my grandchildren came along, it was a joy to be asked to help. My son and his wife both wanted to continue to work. They would need me three days a week to help out with childcare. Jenny and I are both retired, so we did have time and a willingness to be involved. Jenny would care for the baby; my job was grocery shopping and anything else. I would
also help with household chores. I was still ecstatic, you understand.
Well, you know, things went along pretty well. Then, on the other side of the family, another grandchild came along. Hmmm, this was going to be a bit of a stretch. Of course, we would like to help, no problem. Just a flight to and from Colorado. Granddad and Grandma separated for the first time in their married lives. It’s all good.
Things went smoothly enough, as long as we kept flying between the two, and not paying attention to who is getting most of our help. Granddad was paying $3000 a month for flights, but hey, we were so thrilled. Two grandchildren. I had gotten to the point a year ago where I believed my kids would have to bring grandchildren to my grave to meet me. So, honestly, what’s a few bucks here and there?
Months go by, and the grandchildren are sprouting longer legs, longer arms, and I feel like a seventy-year-old wrestler trying to change disposable diapers, and aware that the year-old kid doesn’t care where he’s going to piss, only how high he can piss. It happens once, that’s all. Do that again and you’ll sit in your shit till your mother comes home!
When they were eighteen months old, I gave up on anything that buttoned, snapped, or snap-taped together. Kid, you’re in pullover shirt and sweatpants when I’m looking after you.
They cannot walk yet they want to be down on the floor, or on the ground.
I assume because everything they find can be eaten, paper, leaves, mud, playdough and dog food, and this morning, cat food, yes, I accidentally dropped some on the floor, and would clean it up as soon as I finished scooping it out. Well, that’s how quick an eight-month-old can move.
Into his mouth it goes. It didn’t stay there. It was back on the floor in a half second.
What is it with kids and milk. When the time gets close, the kid waiting can go into convulsions, legs, arms, everything waving. I haven’t even mixed the formula yet! Then he sucks himself onto the bottle, like he hadn’t had any since last week.
Good, his bottle is done, he looks happy, even content, now for a nap. I love nap time. Maybe an hour, maybe, when lucky, two hours to get on my iPhone, but he won’t go to sleep because he wants to keep sucking! Wait, I know somewhere here there is a ‘binky’, what clever mom came up with that word?
Okay, okay, I’m looking. Who gave a baby a voice box that can scream blue murder. I’m looking, dammit. I’m on all fours looking under the crib, eewwh, what the hell… okay, under the pillow, in the blankets, and stuck between the crib and the wall, ah, good, oops, wash it first, too late. Silence.
I check I’ve ticked everything off, look at the note I’ve been left. Clean up toys while napping. How is she going to know. Sit down, find my iPhone.
Two years have gone by, every toy that makes a noise I’ve removed the battery till close to mummy and daddy coming home. How many toys can sing, dance, talk, and ask you to play with them? The one I trod on made a noise like a burglar alarm. I buried it.
My worst experience was with the garbage truck toy. I could not get it to
stop talking about waste and recycling. I put it in the bedroom and threw a blanket over it. That didn’t work, it was still saying what was waste and what was recycling the following morning.
Don’t give him too much TV time. Okay, I won’t.
Five minutes later we were watching the Flintstones, the Jetsons, Popeye and the Roadrunner. Who the hell believes that Cocomelon is fun, or that singing the Wheels on the Bus a hundred times is educational, and that stupid baby shark needs to get a life!
All a kid of two needs is a big comfy couch, and Teletubies.
Say hello mummy, I hope you had a nice day. Tell her what a good well-behaved boy you’ve been for granddad.
More from Harry
Harry Hogg: English writer raised in Scotland, living between California, Missouri, Colorado, and Scotland
