My First Diaper

November five, ninety three.  I won’t forget that day.
Home from work.  Dinner eaten.  Now was time to play.
Grabbed my baby, Nicholas, to hold him.  See him smile.
Was then that I had realized, his diaper held a pile.

Being bold and fatherly, I place him on the table.
Dana said “I’ll help you.  Don’t you worry, I am able”.
I opened up the diaper.  There it was as big as life.
‘Twas then I tried to place the dreaded duty on my wife.

I took responsibility.  I lifted him so slow.
I took away the diaper.  Once again, he starts to flow.
In state of stricken panic, I start wiping, losing hope.
Dana’s now hysterical.  I say “this is no joke”.

There’s poo poo on the blanket and there’s poo poo on my hands.
There’s poo poo on my brand new shirt and poo poo on my pants.
My world is full of poo poo.  I am hoping soon that, maybe,
The poo poo is about to stop.  Oh no!  It’s on the baby.

A hundred fifty handi wipes.  I finally got him clean.
When what am I to notice but a flowing chocolate stream.
He’s crying now hysterically and I’m about the same.
I picked him up to comfort him.  Talk of lack of brain.

By now I’m growing numb to it.  What am I to do.
Like my little boy, I’m head to toe in baby poo.
I think that I’ve convinced my wife.  He truly is my hexed son.
So just to play it safe, I think, I’ll let her change the next one.