The First Diaper – Daddy's Home

The first day with my dad in his new home went well. Mainly because he slept through most of it.

Leaving his house after fifty-one years to live with his daughter was painful. It was the last shred of independence he had left in his ninety-five years. Watching him look around his new surroundings dazed and confused nearly broke my heart, but being the trouper he’s always been known to be, he stared at his freshly painted yellow room, smiled and went into a deep sleep for nearly five hours. Sleeping is what my dad has always done best in times of defeat.

Dinner time was sweet. I made him real food (something I rarely do anymore). We sat together in his room while I carefully fed him his meal spoonful after spoonful. Memories of days long ago came flooding back as I remembered each one of my babies needing my help to get their nutrition into their hungry little mouths, chewing furousiously, then opening wide indicating they wanted more.

My biggest nemisis in all this will be the diaper changes. I have no problems doing this task for the man who brought me in the world and who has stood by me through all my ups and downs, especially the downs. But just like when Michelle first came home from the hospital, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.

With her, it was putting on the cloth diapers with those deadly safety pins. Struggling as I tried to secure her, without stabbing and killing her first, brought me to tears. Finally, I succumbed to the easy paper ones and all became right in my little world.

With my father, we're using those fabulous modern devices that I’m sure are the bane of every garbage dump. But the problem is his body is dead weight and I need to learn how to shift him around with the aid of the bed linens. I know there's a trick to all this. Last night, my first try was a disaster.

Needing a fresh one before I went to bed at 11:00 (the caregiver had done the last right before she went home at 6:00) , I found him sound asleep. Gently waking him, I told him what I was about to do. He kept reassuring me he was fine, but of course he wasn’t.

Getting the damn thing off and wiping him down was easy. It’s amazing how those suckers rip off the body when pulled with just the right amount of strength. Getting a new one back on was another matter. Pushing and pulling his 175 lb. body around the bed I panicked. This was not working.

After five tries and two mutilated diapers later, I finally got it in place (with a little help from a large bolt of plastic tape). Wears rising in my eyes, all I could say was “I’m so sorry dad. I need some lessons in this.”

I know he was uncomfortable and it must have felt awkward, but he gently took my hand, kissed me good night and said, “You did a great job, honey.”

This dance my father and I'll be doing will be one of much practice. I will need light feet, good music, and extra lessons, and much patience – for me. But in the end it will be worth it, even if I have to buy a case of adhesive to keep my entire life together. My daddy’s home.