waiting for the news; in essence, being useful

My youngest sister is theoretically in labor, so at any time, there *should* be Nephew, to add to Niece, Baby Niece, and Former Stepnephew and Former Stepniece to the Pantheon of Children I Can Play With And Not Have to Give Birth To. This continues to be a satisfactory way to acquire babies and not have to pay for them. Though weirdly, I am still called into diaper changing duty, but that is because I'm just that freaking good at it. You think I'm joking--I'm totally not.

People underestimate the power of laziness. The thing is, the lazy are efficient. We mark the problem, look at the least labor intensive and/or fastest solution, and get down to it. We know these things. Even the most horrific diaper monstrosity can be completed in under thirty seconds if you know how to set up your workstation.

Welcome to Jenn's Realm of Useless Information.

Changing a Baby: Get In, Get Out, Do Not Pass Out

a.) attach child to surface

I use floors because of a.) laziness and b.) convenience. You cannot always find a baby changing station. But have blanket, will travel; you will always, always have a floor. Gravity? Not your friend. They can slither all they want--place babywipe container on belly for anchoring when they reach the creep and crawl stage and use one knee to block lateral movement. You are set.

On changing table, basic same procedure, but keep eye on Child at Wriggling Stage. They have cosmic teleportation powers of falling. Almost a mutation, even. Which is why God created floors. Probably for me.

b.) prepare wipies and diaper

This is the least considered but ultimately most useful. By this time, you should know instinctively whether this is one of the three stages of baby mess.

1.) ick
2.) oh my
3.) nuclear disaster

Use your own judgement. I use a two wipie, four wipie, eight wipie (not kidding) pattern in general, but usually have double that ready for use. I am *free* with the wipies. My motto? There are never too many wipies.

Shake them out and pile them--do not leave folded. That will slow down your time. Piles are friendly.

Stretch out diaper pre-removal; if it is a boy, later, you will understand The Magic of the Pee Mid-Air. The little bastards do it deliberately. Girls are more subtle. You won't know until your knee is moist. We won't discuss it. Just, no.

Stretch the diaper, lie it beside child to mirror current butt placement. Breathe. No, really, if this is a stage three, oxygen deprivation is an issue.

c. lift, pull, switch

Tricky, but doable.

Unlatch velcro. Double check baby mess stage. Take a second if you are new at this. Grasp ankles firmly, lift child until butt clears floor. Wipe quickly with diaper (God help you if this is stage three). Push Dark Diaper of Darkness away. Don't, in the name of God, look at it until you are at least a journeyman. Hell, why would you anyway? Place other diaper under child, grab wipie, clean lower suface of child, lower child onto diaper.

This should take no more than five seconds. Even nuclear.

Do not let go of ankles. You have two hands. Keep those legs up and clear.

Pull upper edge over child so Gleeful Evil Open Air Peeing does not hit you in face. No, I'm not talking about this, like, ever. Hold three seconds, then commence with cleaning.

Continue to hold ankles.

Babies are easier to dust than furniture. Yes, it looks like End Days, but it is not. Visualization exercises might help the apprentice level--this is not horror. This is vivid yellow paint. Vivid--do you really want the mess color spectrum? No, you do not. Just go with it.

Wipe thoroughly. Quickly. If child is unusually--oh, let's say plump--check crevasses. Powder, lotion, baby ointment, whatever (I never used anything except the diaper rash stuff myself since Child was blissfully free of most skin irritations unless he was ill, but other people have, so that's your window for doing so). Crease of thigh and leg--Very Important. Like, a breeding ground of ick and darkness.

d. closing

Lower child completely into diaper. Velcro closed, hold child above head, yell in triumph. Also, breathe, you may be getting dizzy. Lower child in case you are about to pass out.

See why I like the floor?

Thirty seconds. Done.

e. dispose of the evidence.

Wrap all wipies and diaper into a tiny compact ball and hide it somewhere. Fine, trash it. But also fun to place in middle of table, because if you have a baby, you know this: it might be days until they realize it's there and if your sister made you do like, seven changes that day? That's called revenge. You might even stack some into a kind of modern art sculpture and be completely surprised they don't want to use it for a conversational piece at parties. Suburban Family in Decline. Not that I've ever tried that. Or almost pulled it off.

And that concludes Useless Information.

Speaking of, I was banned from further baby clothes buying even though Macy's has their forty percent/forty percent going on and I'm sorry, but Ralph Lauren overalls are totally worth it.

whee baby! commence dancing or er, singing or something

Nephew has been delivered!

Er, exact stats unknown, but seven pounds aroundbout. And possibly with a largish head. There are officially two babies in my life that I do not own but get to dress up however I want if their parents aren't around. My life? Complete.

Could only be better with a pony, really. Will report when more is known. Will not shop amazon.com. I am stronger than that. Mostly.

mountain dew == spawn of darkness?

So I have discovered Mountain Dew is not friendly when I lose concentration while reading a sex scene. In McShep! And it's not scary or bad!

Little known fact. Me and caffeine == OTP. Also, interesting side effect; being taken off caffeine for oh, say, three and a half days makes me very, very twitchy. First and second day are lethargy and comatose respectively before my body adjusts to the horror and overcompensates in dramatic ways for what it feels I am missing in my life. I could say I figured this out in some normal healthy lifestyle way, but I actually discovered this when my parents secretly changed to decaf and I couldn't work out why I wanted to die, had a headache, couldn't move off the couch, was faintly nauseated, and couldn't write legibly even by medical standards (very low standards indeed). Followed by a horrifying week of bouncing in place at my desk, people worriedly discussing drug problems, and a few days of very strange sleep.

Actually, I worked this out the second time they did this. Yes, that does make me sad to know.

It's like this--theoretically, am I a medical professional? No--I like to keep a certain level of caffeine in my bloodstream, like any good addict. We are not fond of variation or change. However, going too far either way can be strange and mystical (no-doze, very strange, vaguely religious) and deeply wrong (did I mention withdrawal headaches and comatose?).

Moutain Dew is my Deeply Wrong. For the life of me, though I can't figure out why. I am twitchy, irritated, and faintly dislike the color orange right now. I drink coffee which apparently has far, far more caffeine and am fine, but Mountain Dew feels wrong, though not Pepsi One level wrong (may I repress that day of horror, dear God), or ginseng Snickers wrong (God, that was wrong. That was incredibly not mystical at all. Also, yes, ginseng Snickers. And of course I tried it. I like ginseng! I like chocolate! Apparently though, not together, who saw that coming?) and not quite diet soda level wrong (that is so unfair I can't even deal with it rationally).

Also, this explains the last few days where I took a can to work and felt strange and filled with a bitter dislike of graphs.

I continue to share culinary adventures with the class.

Seriously. Mountain Dew? Why? Red Bull didn't bother me! (That may be a lie; I can't remember resenting it recently.) I hate the universe. Even though no, I do not find it tasty and normally never get it, I resent the fact it exists. It's like Folgers Coffee--I never loved it, but the fact it now makes me sick makes me loathe humanity. Except for the Simply Smooth variety. Which is my triumph over something, God knows what. Adversity? Good taste? Gah.

Why is food slowly turning against me?

Does anyone see me in twenty years having to live off whole foods I grow myself (like, green beans and parsley and mint, basically; I am not green in thumb) and raw caffeine I have to extract in an underground illegal lab or something? I am seeing this and I find it creepy.