There are things that they don’t really warn you about in the parenting classes.

There are things that they can’t really warn you about in the parenting classes.

And today I learned – unceremoniously and without warning – that poopy diapers is definitely one of those things because frankly, even if someone had eluded to the caustic, nauseating reality that baby poops threaten new fathers with each and every day, I never would’ve believed them anyways. At least not to the dramatic conclusion that I experienced myself just this afternoon – it’s like trying to anticipate your first slice of pizza or hitting the Powerball jackpot – you might think that you know how you’d react, but when push comes to shove and you’re actually savoring that delectable first bite of sweet, sweet pepperoni, there’s just nothing quite like it…

If I had to find words to describe what I saw today when I unfastened my less than one month old baby’s diaper, the first ones would be peanut butter and mustard – because it was as if someone … perhaps a pregnant woman with the bizarre appetite that only a pregnant woman can have … decided that it would be a good idea to mix the two condiments together, thoroughly and equally, until the resulting substance was something of a brown and yellowish goo.

But it didn’t smell anything like peanut butter and mustard – let me be 100% clear about that!

The stench, I would argue, was actually more of a byproduct of the sinister concoction – horrible and gut-wrenching, no doubt, but in the grand scheme of things I think I would have to rate smell as secondary to the visual components of this terrible poop. And granted, I have little doubt that within time I will likely come to regret that very statement, but for now the stench was tolerable.

For now…

Perhaps it was because the application of said poop seemed so thorough and precise – it was as if he had not only put incredible care into the consistency of his own poo, but he seemed to also take great pride in having spread that daunting mixture of peanut butter-mustard over every square inch of baby ass, taking every care to ensure that not a single spot, cranny, or crevice go untouched. In a way, it was almost a thing of beauty to see such a comprehensive poopy diaper that made use of every last corner of surface area that both diaper and baby had to offer – no man alone could’ve created such a spectacle…

…much like it seemed that no man alone could hope to clean its mess up!

There are few fears that mankind knows worse than almost running out of baby wipes mid-wipe, and needless to say I immediately went online and ordered a backup case after this incident just to ensure that the likes of it would never happen again. One wipe after another, scrubbing and scooping and wading through peanut butter-mustard poop – a seemingly endless affair to which the new father in me had been given no training, no gentle words of encouragement, and possibly worst of all … no place to throw all of those peanut butter-mustard poop-covered baby wipes when I was through with them.

Roughly two and a half hours and thirteen packages of wipes later, I did manage to emerge victoriously, with my son’s freshly cleaned bottom as shiny and not covered in crap as the day that he was born, and my fatherly ego admittedly a little worn for the experience. While here I thought that all of these old wives’ tales about terrible newborn poos were merely the fairer sex’s jab at us dads who didn’t have to suffer through nine months of pregnancy like they did, as it turns out it seems that my son has really just been going easy on me all of this time with all of the only moderately disturbing diapers that I’ve had the duty to change thus far.

Today’s diaper change was the tipping point, and I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to be much dirtier, stinkier, peanut-butterier from here on out … until whatever time it is when kids stop wearing diapers altogether, which I’ll honestly have to ask my wife about because frankly I have no idea…