The Tribune

By INIGO 'NAUGHTY' ZENICAZELAYA

As I exited one of my favourite haunts, KFC Saunders Beach, I bumped into a young man who is a fan of this column and my #COLDEST videos.

While he was explaining why he liked the column, I couldn’t help but notice his year-old son was having diaper issues, on top of that my sense of smell confirmed my initial fears.

A dirty diaper! (Huge understatement).

Before I could offer some ‘Veteran Daddy’ advice, his progeny was intent on putting his lunch on display, all over himself and his, now thoroughly embarrassed dad.

I’ve been there, maybe not in public, but I’ve been there.

All I could do at this point was to relate a personal, similar experience involving my oldest son.

I must say it did help him get through that sticky situation with a laugh, so much so he thanked me for the story, and advice. Going as far as to say, that I should tell the story in my column, so that it could help other young fathers deal with some of the impending pitfalls of fatherhood.

After a bit of reflection, and realising I still have zero shame, here goes, hopefully it is beneficial to some young fathers in the 242.

TESTIMONIAL

My wife was at the beauty salon for some well deserved pampering, and I had to watch the kids.

My oldest son had gorged himself on two bottles of milk, cereal, applesauce and a couple of zwieback biscuits, not to mention the apple juice he guzzled out of his “Sippy Cup”.

After walking 2,158 steps trying to get him to sleep, the circulation in my arm had stopped, and I was sweating like I had run several games of full court basketball.

I needed a break.

My mind was on the ice cold “switcha” in the fridge, so I slid my son in his walker and bee-lined it to the fridge to pour my drink, chug it down and dash back to my boy without missing a beat.

Why the paranoid rush to get a well deserved refreshment?

Simple, nothing is happening on my watch. I could never live that down.

On my way back to my den, I could smell a rather unpleasant aroma, which was indeed pungent to the nostrils.

The closer I got, the more putrid the air became; it was definitely a strong nine out of ten on the fart scale.

Honestly, it made my eyes burn and water (it was giving “mace” a real run for its money.).

I was about to “stop, drop and roll” as the heat (along with its smell) had me in fear of some sort of combustible reaction.

It was at that very moment I noticed my wife’s Shih Tzu completely laid out on the floor in a canine coma.

Instantly, I knew what had happened; the poor Shih Tzu had run headlong (and mouth open) into the initial blast of my son’s “Carbonic Assigas”.

As alert as animals usually are, the poor dog never saw or smelled it coming.

ON THE RUN

Hoping to wait it out until my wife’s return so she could face whatever was in that kid’s diaper, I became distraught when she informed me that due to freshly polished, wet nails, I would be on diaper duty for the rest of the afternoon.

So I mustered what little bravado I had at that moment and decided to take the bull by the horns.

With wipes in hand and fresh new diapers in my back pocket, I bravely went in…

And what I saw changed my life!

What went into my child as pretty orange carrots, yellow corn and sweat potato came out florescent green and deadly.

Half an hour later, when I was finally done changing my son, I stood there traumatised; that diaper looked like a hot, molten, piece of lava, just smoldering and emitting toxic fumes.

RECYCLING

In my delirium, I started thinking how old baby diapers could be used as chemical weapons to protect our borders from illegal immigration.

The scent alone from them baking in the sun, wafting out to sea could turn boatloads of illegal immigrants back. And think how cost-effective that would be since one dirty diaper could surely cover miles of shore.

There must be some use for dirty baby diapers, right?

Maybe we could let teenagers smell the really horrid ones; maybe that would help curb teen pregnancy.?

But I digress.

My only solace is that one day my kids will have to take care of me and maybe they’ll have to change my diapers.

If that day ever comes you can bet the house I will have a rainbow of colours waiting on them in my Depends.

Truthfully, after what I’ve been through, I am kind of looking forward to it.

Yes, I wrote about “baby farts” this week, relax, those of you who maybe all uptight, it could’ve been worse.

I easily could have written about Trump, and “S*#t Holes!