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I’ve just learned the awful truth and my world has been turned upside down.
No, I’m not adopted. Nope, my husband doesn’t have a secret family in Tulsa. It’s much more serious. I’ve learned the truth about swim diapers: pee is all around us.
Sorry, got a little too Shakespearean tragedy there. Reigning it in…
Let me tell you how it unfolded. I attended a play date with an Olympic obstacle course theme. Bring clothes your kids can get wet in, and a towel! Naturally, we did. I dressed Jas in a rash guard, swim diaper, swim bottoms, and cotton shorts.
We arrived later than most to the play date, and the kids had already conquered the obstacle course and dirtied up the kiddie pool with mud and grass, so Jas decided to occupy herself with eating chalk. A fine and colorful pastime, indeed.
We stayed and chatted with the hostess, Jessica, and her two daughters. I was holding Jas, admiring Jessica’s handmade painting, when I realized that Jas was peeing all over me. Oh, dear. I was grateful to have brought a change of clothes—for her, not for me, obviously. I still had to wear the pee clothes. I finally wrangled Jas long enough to get a clean diaper on her, but she refused to allow shorts. Fine, whatever. Go pants-less.
The next thing I know the child has pooped. I smelled it from across the room. Really, Jas? Another silent prayer of thank you that she was wearing a real diaper when this occurred. That was our cue to leave. Since the diaper bag was in the car, I changed Jas in the car trunk (don’t worry, I have a roomy SUV!) and we headed home.
On the way home, I called my friend Michelle, who is also a toddler mom, and told her why I was currently wearing urine covered clothing. She lamented my poor fortune but ultimately blamed the swim diaper, “they don’t absorb anything!”.
I have no idea why my skull is so thick, but it wasn’t until she said this that it finally clicked in my brain: swim diapers are a lie!!
I had always sort of wondered how a swim diaper works. The kid puts it on, they go in water, and yet the diaper doesn’t puff up at all. Do you want to know why? Because, once again, it doesn’t absorb any liquid! There is no magic here. It doesn’t somehow absorb the pee but not the entire pool of water. It absorbs NOTHING. And thus, we are swimming in pools full of toddler pee.
Swim diapers lure you into a false sense of security. Oh, look at me! I have Dora the Explorer on me and I will protect both you and your child from communicable disease! HAH!!! Sure, put me on in the car while you are transporting your child to a play date/water park/swim lesson and I’ll do just as good of a job as a regular diaper would! DECEPTION.
The most ironic thing, perhaps, is that swim diapers cost more money than regular diapers and do about half the job. If it weren’t for the terrifying possibility of a #2, they might as well swim naked, people.
I will never look at our YMCA swim lessons the same way again.
No, I’m not adopted. Nope, my husband doesn’t have a secret family in Tulsa. It’s much more serious. I’ve learned the truth about swim diapers: pee is all around us.
Sorry, got a little too Shakespearean tragedy there. Reigning it in…
Let me tell you how it unfolded. I attended a play date with an Olympic obstacle course theme. Bring clothes your kids can get wet in, and a towel! Naturally, we did. I dressed Jas in a rash guard, swim diaper, swim bottoms, and cotton shorts.
We arrived later than most to the play date, and the kids had already conquered the obstacle course and dirtied up the kiddie pool with mud and grass, so Jas decided to occupy herself with eating chalk. A fine and colorful pastime, indeed.
We stayed and chatted with the hostess, Jessica, and her two daughters. I was holding Jas, admiring Jessica’s handmade painting, when I realized that Jas was peeing all over me. Oh, dear. I was grateful to have brought a change of clothes—for her, not for me, obviously. I still had to wear the pee clothes. I finally wrangled Jas long enough to get a clean diaper on her, but she refused to allow shorts. Fine, whatever. Go pants-less.
The next thing I know the child has pooped. I smelled it from across the room. Really, Jas? Another silent prayer of thank you that she was wearing a real diaper when this occurred. That was our cue to leave. Since the diaper bag was in the car, I changed Jas in the car trunk (don’t worry, I have a roomy SUV!) and we headed home.
On the way home, I called my friend Michelle, who is also a toddler mom, and told her why I was currently wearing urine covered clothing. She lamented my poor fortune but ultimately blamed the swim diaper, “they don’t absorb anything!”.
I have no idea why my skull is so thick, but it wasn’t until she said this that it finally clicked in my brain: swim diapers are a lie!!
I had always sort of wondered how a swim diaper works. The kid puts it on, they go in water, and yet the diaper doesn’t puff up at all. Do you want to know why? Because, once again, it doesn’t absorb any liquid! There is no magic here. It doesn’t somehow absorb the pee but not the entire pool of water. It absorbs NOTHING. And thus, we are swimming in pools full of toddler pee.
Swim diapers lure you into a false sense of security. Oh, look at me! I have Dora the Explorer on me and I will protect both you and your child from communicable disease! HAH!!! Sure, put me on in the car while you are transporting your child to a play date/water park/swim lesson and I’ll do just as good of a job as a regular diaper would! DECEPTION.
The most ironic thing, perhaps, is that swim diapers cost more money than regular diapers and do about half the job. If it weren’t for the terrifying possibility of a #2, they might as well swim naked, people.
I will never look at our YMCA swim lessons the same way again.
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