And that sweet little baby hands you a wad of what?

And that sweet little baby hands you a wad of what?

Years ago before I was an adult, much less a parent, I remember my late Uncle Jack’s discourse on the subject of poopey diapers. “You’re aggravated because the kid just handed you a wad of sh___,” he began, “but when look down into that crib to change the diaper and you see that little smiling face, what do you do? You pick her up and hug her!”

I appreciated fully the folk wisdom in Uncle Jack’s tale when I grew up and raised my own poopey-diaper-makers. Diaper change was a bonding experience!

But along comes grandparenthood. To quote the celebrated poet of latter year, “Nevermore, quoth [I]!” Meaning, nevermore would I change a poopey diaper if I could in any way avoid it. That seems to be a deserved fringe benefit of grandparenthood, in consideration of all the poopey diapers I joyfully changed in my day. And I have been ever true to that resolution as a grandparent: Not once did I change a poopey diaper! I even composed a haiku verse that expresses the spirit of this season of life:

When rank fragrance blooms
From di’per-swaddled bottom,
Hand her to her mom!