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The
Dirty Diaper Dilemma
By
Taylor RaeAnne Smith
Feb. 1, 2003
The baby wailed and my heart pounded. It was the summer of 2000, my
first babysitting job at the Malone's house. The baby screamed
louder and I looked at her, knowing what had to be done, but could I
do it?
My palms felt sweaty and my knees weak as I lifted up the baby and
placed her on the changing table. My heart continued to pound as I
unbuttoned her pink onesie. Her eyes seemed to ask if I knew what I
was doing. My stomach knotted as I unfastened her diaper with
foreboding. But no, she was just wet. My shoulders relaxed, and I
sighed with relief.
I reached down to where I thought I'd seen the baby wipes and
diapers, but they weren't there. My mind went blank. Frantically, I
began to search for the diapers and wipes. Micha, the baby's older
sister, tugged on my dress trying to tell me something. I was so
drawn to my task though that I didn't hear her. I knew I couldn't
leave the baby on the table, but I didn't know to do. I felt panicky.
Suddenly Micha's tugging became harder and more persistent. I turned
and asked her what she wanted.
Without saying a word, Micha strolled over to the crib, and pulled
something from underneath. Diapers! Wipes! My heart leapt, and I was
overcome with joy. I walked over to the baby and finished the job.
When I put the baby down, she smiled as if to thank me for my deed.
I was so very glad that it was over. For now!
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