When Daddy and I first found out you were (er, are) a boy, I was–I’ll admit–taken a bit by surprise. A boy? What was I going to do with a boy? I’m a girl. I only know about girl things. I don’t have a brother, I grew up–for all intents and purposes–without a father and we only have girls in this Next Generation of our family, save one lone XY carrying the torch. So I had a lot of learning to do, and I’m still very much on the upward slope of that learning curve.
But one of the things I learned very, very quickly is that boys don’t pee in the same direction as their mamas. They pee straight up. In fact, Daddy and I sometimes (and only very affectionately, I promise) call you Old Faithful. In the bathtub, you’re often more whale-like than Guppy-like. I’ve learned to move with lightning speed when racing to cover an errant stream, and I’ll do so with anything I can think of–a diaper, a wipe, a magazine, my hand–lest you spray down much of the surface within a 12-inch radius.
In the last two weeks, you’ve begun rolling back to tummy, and since you’re now more than capable of rotating yourself, you put yourself on your tummy to sleep. In the mornings, I find you face down and tushy up, dreaming away with a cheek pressed hard against your crib mattress. I have no problems with this (after all, I’m an avid tummy sleeper), but you have become no match for your overnight diapers. Given your tummy sleeping and the direction in which you pee, you’ve been leaking significantly out the top of your diapers and soaking yourself through by the time morning comes around. I feel terrible about this; you sleep so soundly that it doesn’t seem to bother you at all, but no one should have to sleep in their own pee. And no parent should have to change that ridiculously tight fitted sheet every day.
So we’ve begun the Great Pee Experiment. (When I first came up with the title for this post, I chuckled because if you read it quickly, “exeriment” becomes “excrement.” But we all know excrement is by no means funny. Stop laughing.)
Thanks to some help from the Interwebs, where we learned this is far from an uncommon problem, we developed a tiered strategy for combating the leak:
Step 1: Turn the overnight diaper around so you’re wearing it backwards, since diapers (allegedly) are more absorbent in the back.
Observations: It’s difficult enough putting a diaper on you frontwards. You squiggle and squirm and pull your knees up to your belly and kick the bottom of your changing pad, and I’m lucky if I get a snug, appropriate fit on the first attempt. Usually, I have to adjust several times once I’ve got it somehow secured. Putting a diaper on backwards requires some sort of sorcery and a good half hour. Nevertheless, I managed to get it in place. It was a shot in the dark certainly, and …
Result: FAIL. You were wetter in the morning than ever before, clear up to your armpits.
Step 2: Go with a size up for the overnight diaper.
Observations: This is slightly more involved than Step 1, as it requires acquiring something you might not have on hand. We, quite luckily, have had a small package of Pampers Swaddlers Size 3 diapers tucked away since before you were born. (Thank you, genius shower gift.) I thought you might swim in this size, but honestly, they were none too small. Size 3’s are sneaky. Whereas the other sizes you’ve been in so far–Newborn through Size 2–indicate a relatively small weight range (Size 2’s, for example, run 14-18 pounds), Size 3’s are supposed to fit 16-24 pounds. You may still be in Size 3’s when you’re a year old. I noticed there was ample room for absorption, however, and I held my breath.
Result: SUCCESS. I picked up and squeezed a dry baby this morning, which is endlessly more pleasant than picking up and squeezing a damp, squishy one.
Here’s to hoping our success continues.
Had we not had success with Step 2, we had two additional steps planned:
Step 3: Insert diaper doublers or booster pads, essentially giant maxi pads that offer a double layer of absorption when added to the diaper. These, of course, add cost to the whole operation.
Step 4: Attempt to contain pee with a breathable plastic diaper cover like the disposable ones that Gerber sells or the nice, reusable, adorably decorated ones that Thirsties sells (note perfect, Guppy-appropriate theme!).
Luckily, at least as of now, we haven’t had to go these routes: A dry you makes a ha[pp]y me.