Nighttime Diaper Changes: Instagram vs Reality
By: Andrew Steven Neff
Tags: Parenting, Baby, Newborn, Dads, Kids

The Sandwich Method — Parenting at its finest: Every 2–3 hours, you wake up crying. Mom grabs you, feeds you on one boob, then gives you to me to change the diaper. I change you, put your swaddle back on, give you back to mom, she feeds you on the other boob, puts you in the crib, and you fall asleep for another 3 hours. I call this the sandwich method — very, very high-end parenting.

Instagram vs Reality: It’s 1:00 A.M., and this is the second time we’ve woken up so far. Our 13-year-old dog is lying in the doorway to the bedroom, his semi-functional bladder dripping pee on the carpet. Your mom woke you up, drained boob #1, hands you to me, and I, eyes half-closed, walk into the next room to change you. I trip on the dog and land in a pee puddle.

In the other room, you’re on the changing table, I take the diaper off and the clock is ticking — changing your diaper enrages you. I imagine the maddest I’ve been in the past 10 years — I think you feel that 10 times a day. You flex your whole body, expelling liquids from all orifices. So quick, diaper comes off, poop is wiped, butthole is dried, diaper rash cream applied, moisture-blocking vaseline applied on top, diaper re-attached, and… well, you know what happens… you peed all over yourself. More rage. My eyes are open.

Your mom bought these weird double zipper outfits, and long-story-short, they zip up when you change a diaper, and down when taking the outfit off. The zipper is already up, and getting the zipper down is a challenge, given your 110% rage-superflexing. So instead of zipping down, I, also now enraged & hulk-superflexed, stretch the neck of the outfit and struggle to get the pajamas over your head. Rage. Nonetheless, we made it, pee-soaked outfit comes off, new outfit comes on… and… well… you know… you spit up chunky human breast-cheese all over yourself.

I almost catch it as you spit-up, so with just a tiny stain on your shirt, I dry it off with a towel, and call this change complete. We head back to the bedroom, I put your swaddle on, give you to your mom, wash my hands, walk downstairs to let the old dog outside to pee, head back upstairs, step again in a dog-pee puddle, lie down, and shut my eyes. Aaahhhhhh. Mmmmmmm. Zzzzzzz.

And somehow, you figure out how to time the moment that more peaceful brain waves emerge, and… well… you poop your pants. 1:30 am, a new cycle begins: wake-up, change diaper, return to crib.

But remember the sandwich method? You’ve exposed a vulnerability in the system. Because every time I change you, you scream your little swollen scrotum off, and wake yourself up. That’s why we use the sandwich method in the first place, 15 minutes of boob calms you down so you can go back to sleep. But now, the boobs are empty, and your 3-week sleep-deprived mom is asleep. Which means it’s just me and you, on a rocking chair, another 30 minutes of togetherness. Two levels of Candy Crush, five minutes of rocking you into an apparent peace-state, putting you in the crib, you waking up grunting, picking you back up, more Candy Crush (yes, I still play Candy Crush in 2021), more rocking, another attempt to put you back in the crib, and eventually, success. I lay my head on the pillow. Aaaaaah. Zzzzzzz.

I dream about my dead father, I have been a lot lately — a beautiful moment where he’s making your 2-year-old brother laugh. He comes to give me advice… 2:30am…