Baby onesies are adorable. They usually feature tiny animals of some sort, in a vain effort to make an adorable child look even cuter. (My baby would make a paper sack look good, just for the record.)
But all those little animals make conversation sound a little funny. We went to the doctor’s office the other day, and had a hellish experience. We forgot the diaper bag entirely, being new to this whole parenthood thing, all three of us were hangry (so hungry we were angry), and the receptionist spoke at about the speed and coherency of a desert tortoise on marijuana. We were a tad impatient with the entire proceeding, but then my son accomplished one of his most impressive feats thus far. He pooped his penguins.
Pooping a diaper is standard. Pooping a onesie is not unusual. But the greatest part of the cuteness of baby clothes is that you can change the phrase, “Oh, no! You pooped your onesie!” to “Oh, no! Mr. Pooper pooped his penguins!”
In the first two weeks of his life, my son has pooped his penguins, his ducks, his trucks, his pigs, his farm, and the zoo. He has also peed on both his parents, several of his blankets, his dad’s pants, his bassinet, our sheets, and – in the same instance – both his feet and his face. Last night, during a diaper change, he peed in his own ear.
I can’t really get mad at the kid. Bodily functions are one of the hardest things he’s had to master in the past few weeks. I had no control over my own functions during labor; how am I supposed to expect him to learn to aim a urine stream before he learns not to eat his own hands? We’re making the best of it: our new apartment has a washer and dryer (glory hallelujah), and in the meantime, we can laugh about our son pooping his ducks. As long as this doesn’t continue into adulthood, he’s gonna be fine. ♦