At my baby shower for my first son I received a "Diaper Champ", which is basically a glorified receptacle for dirty diapers. It is useful. It seals up, keeps the smellies away, and prevents the dogs and toddler from accessing its contents. When Barrett was first born, a week and a half would go by before I even needed to think about emptying it. Lately the thing fills up in about....oh, three hours (give or take ten minutes). I cram as many diapers in there as possible. I lift the lid, do some shoving and make room for more. I always know, in the back of my head, that I am only making it harder on myself for when I really do have to empty the thing.
Why do I put this chore off? Well, we don't have trash service like you city-slickers are accustomed to. No magic truck arrives to carry off our nasties. Nope. We must either: A. burn our trash (Nothing burns like a diaper fire. Those things sizzle for days), or B. My husband drives our garbage around in his work truck until he disposes of it in a dumpster at work. You could call it a company perk. Anyway, there is not always a handy place for me to transport the contents to.
By the time I have decided that I must empty the thing, it is bad news. It's like birthing a giant, soppy, plastic bag from a narrow, plastic birth canal. I have to turn the thing on its side and coax the bag of diapers out. The trash bag typically weighs about forty pounds....and I am barely exaggerating. It's physically draining and the whole time I am fearing the worst: a tear in the bag.
Jason had the nerve to ask me a question while I was battling the diaper champ this morning.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm emptying the damn diaper thingy." I said, through my teeth.
He was in the other room, and he was inquiring what I was doing, so that he could ask me to do something else. I walked past him, with my 50 pound bag of soaked diapers.
"Don't ever ask me a question while I am doing that. If you had ever done that once, then you would know not to talk to me while I'm doing that."
"Oh, I have emptied that before." He replied.
Yes, he emptied it once while I was in the hospital after having our second son. I chose to let the converstaion end, so that I didn't stab him right then.
After some thought, I have realized that we don't need a "Diaper Champ", we need an industrial dumpster. I could fashion a shoot from the window, so that the diapers just slid out to the waiting receptacle in the yard. We don't have neighbors to complain about such a monstrocity. Why not? Some fat guy named Louie could come in his truck and pick it up once a...uh.....every three days.
I was digging through some files on the computer today and I found this picture. My husband took it with his phone, and I had completely forgotten about it. This was one morning a few weeks ago, when I was trying to do my business and Barrett busted in and demanded that I wear his dog hat. By demand, I mean he irately squealed at me until I put it on. Jason followed suit with the camera. Looking back on it, I could swear they were in cahoots.
