The Diaper Incident

As I told you last week, I’m in the process of reorganizing my entire house right now, but each time I think I’ve gotten to everything, I’ll realize there’s another drawer, another cabinet, another closet I’ve forgotten. The proof of this came last week, when my kids invited a brother and sister over to play.

Punky is close friends with the little girl and has her over often, but her brother is two years older than five-year-old Bruiser, and it was his first time at our house. My son was eager to prove that he could hang with an older crowd and was on his best “big guy” behavior throughout the playdate, talking in a gruff voice I’d never heard before and manfully referring to “Ben 10” and “Bakugan” as if those were the shows he watched each day instead of his real favorites, “Scooby-Doo” and “The Smurfs.”

At one point while Bruiser and his new friend played in his room, I eavesdropped on their conversation as I folded clothes down the hall.

“You like super heroes?” the seven-year-old boy asked. I guessed he was looking at my son’s Lego super hero collection, which was displayed on a shelf.

“Yah,” my son answered casually. “I like the DC superheroes. Not the Marvel, though.” The other boy grunted in approval and continued assessing Bruiser’s belongings, commenting about his Pokemon cards, his plastic soldiers, and his Imaginext dinosaurs. So far, everything seemed to be passing inspection. And then I heard Bruiser’s dresser drawers begin to open and close.

“Batman t-shirt,” the seven-year-old muttered. “Sonic t-shirt. Mario t-shirt. WHAT’S THIS?!”

I stopped folding clothes and looked up quickly. I hadn’t gone through Bruiser’s dresser in ages and there was no telling what the boy had found.

“Is this a diaper?!” the kid asked incredulously.

I groaned softly in disbelief, realizing that he must have found a leftover overnight diaper in the very back of Bruiser’s pajama drawer. I had saved a few for the occasional nights when my son fell asleep in the car on the way home and we couldn’t wake him up enough to go to the bathroom before transferring him to his bed. We hadn’t had to use them even for that purpose in at least a year, but I couldn’t exactly go and explain that to a seven-year-old kid.

And now, my son was paying the price.

“That’s not a diaper!” Bruiser told him stoutly.

“Well, what is it then?” the boy asked.

“It’s a…. It’s a…. It’s a….”

Bruiser paused for a long moment.  I listened, holding my breath.

“…uh oh.” Bruiser finished resolutely. Despite myself, I laughed out loud.

“Hey look at this!” I heard my son say brightly after a beat. “A G.I. Joe Comic book!”

“Cool!” the seven-year-old said. Their chatter continued. The diaper was forgotten.

But not by me.

“…Uh oh.”

I still laugh every time I think about that conversation.

And yes, I threw those diapers out as soon as the boys left the room.