As an obstetrician I take care of both mother and baby before the delivery. But once I cut the umbilical cord, I hand the baby off to someone else. Nurse, respiratory therapist, pediatrician – it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t pretend to have the skill set to care for a baby once it’s outside the mother’s body. So no one has ever handed a baby back to me.
Particularly one with a dirty diaper.
It was Friday evening a dozen years ago. Ann and I were sitting on the driveway with our neighbor Yasmin, watching our four year olds play. Ann and Yasmin each had a glass of white wine, and Joseph, our one year old, perched on Ann’s lap. I slouched in my chair, feet propped up and a cold beer in hand.
Suddenly a foul odor penetrated the air. “I just changed his diaper twenty minutes ago!” Ann moaned. An expression of combined sorrow and resentment crossed her face.
Poor Ann! I found myself thinking. Not even a moment’s rest to sit with her good friend and husband to have a sip of wine. I realized what Ann most needed: a loving husband jumping out of his chair like an eager prince to change that dirty diaper.
At that same moment the question flitted through my mind: How do I get out of this?
As a physician I am comfortable with all aspects of people’s bodies, up to and including bodily excretions. Indeed I surgically repair bladders and rectums on a routine basis. But there is something about a dirty diaper that somehow seems worse. From observation, I had noticed that Ann was far more skilled than I at changing diapers. She’d be done in five minutes flat –
I’d be happy to save her seat.
A decade earlier, our perfect wedding day had played like the finale of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast.” Belle is the intelligent Beauty whose love lifts the Beast’s terrible curse. The song “Tale as Old as Time” plays as Belle and her handsome Prince waltz through the castle ballroom. I’ve often wondered about that fairy tale ending and the class action lawsuit the Disney Company deserves for setting up false expectations in American society.
Fast forward the movie five years. There’s Belle with a baby on her hip, pregnant yet again, bemoaning her swollen feet and aching back, with a toddler running around the castle knocking over expensive fragile objects. The part I really want to see is when Belle hands Beast the baby with a foul smelling diaper at the end of a long work week, just when he’s settling down with a cold beer.
If the Beast is anything like me, he’ll come up with some pretty good excuses.
I wondered which one I should pull out. My personal favorite is the “I have to call the hospital – someone’s life is in danger.” That one wouldn’t work at the moment because I wasn’t on call. Besides, I didn’t want to spoil my best excuse with overuse. I considered the next runner up: “I think I’m coming down with something and don’t want the baby to catch it.” Instead of selfish and lazy, I might appear considerate. I pictured Ann rushing Joseph inside to get him away from my germs. If I worded it just right, maybe on her way back she’d bring me another beer?
But sitting there with my feet propped up, looking pretty darn healthy, I knew if I tried that one Ann and Yasmin would exchange “what a loser husband” glances.
I was trapped. It was a desperate moment. Drawing a blank, I jumped up and grabbed Joseph off Ann’s lap and feigned eager loving husband. What followed was ten minutes of absolutely repulsive labor. I was glad Joseph couldn’t speak yet, because I told him exactly how disgusting and inconsiderate he was pooping in his pants – in a nice tone of voice of course. I returned to the driveway wearing a big smile, pretending it was indeed an honor to help my beautiful wife.
Ann and Yasmin fell for it one hundred percent. How naïve! The rest of the evening I got to listen to how wonderful I am. I was almost embarrassed. But it got me thinking –
Maybe it’s a blessing when you can’t come up with a good excuse.
-Dr. Mike Litrel
