What social gathering rocked your socks off in 2010? Describe the people, music, food, drink, clothes, shenanigans. (Author: Shauna Reid)
I don’t do parties. I really don’t have much of a social life. My weekends are typically spent making promises to myself that I’ll start cleaning the house in an hour. Just one more episode of America’s Next Top Model. Then I’ll get up…
So yeah, no party memories to share. But let me tell you about something much more interesting: diaper rash.
I’m not going to go into details, but this whole pregnancy thing has not resulted in what I thought would be an escape from pads/liners for approximately 9 months. No, no. There’s enough of something (I have no clue what the something is but it’s a product of crazy hormones) being produced that I still need to worry about keeping myself dry.
Sometimes I’m not as on top of Mission: Stay Dry as I probably should be and this results in a touch of what I lovingly call diaper rash.
Mark: You’re being grouchy.
Me: I have diaper rash. Die.
I don’t know if there is anything more uncomfortable than diaper rash. I really don’t. I guess it’s like the whole “being mindful is walking with a stone in your shoe” thing, it’s just that with diaper rash your attention is entirely focused on your hoo hoo.
Because I’ve grown to hate diaper rash so much I’ve started carrying a bottle of Gold Bond powder around in my purse. If I feel even a hint of moisture I’m getting all medicated powder awesomeness on its butt as fast as possible.
Other than being an unwanted guest at the party in my pants (gotta bring it back to the reverb prompt, my peeps), I’ve also developed a huge amount of compassion for any and all babies that have ever suffered the wrath of even a minor diaper rash. I know that if (God forbid) Marshmallow ever has to deal with diaper rash and he gets all cranky and mean I’m just going to hand him a bottle of Gold Bond and a fist bump in solidarity.
I feel you, Little Man, I feel you.