I am forgetful and lazy, but before you go sneering at me, just know that these two make a great pair. If you’re me. This is the story of The Dirty Diaper and the Forgotten Backpack.
Forgetful
Until a few years ago, my memory was incredibly sharp, especially with information I’d just learned. Used to be, I could memorize phone numbers and conversations verbatim. Now, introductions are like mind-erasers to me. When I meet people, I instantly forget their names. To avoid admitting that I forgot their names, I just avoid them. To combat my short-term memory loss, I write reminders on myself. It may seem juvenile walking around the office with ink chicken scratch on my arm, but it works. I feel like the memory-challenged Guy Pierce in Memento, who resorted to tattooing information on his body. Except he was ripped, and I look like a crash test dummy with tits.
According to my unsubstantiated research, a busy life contributes to a distracted mind, which results in memory loss. For that reason, I blame the following incident on my job, my wife, fantasy football, and my son.
On Fridays I take Jake to my in-laws, and the only things I need to remember are Jake’s afternoon clothes and Jake. Amy understands my condition, so she’ll assemble Jake’s outfit and leave it on the kitchen island where it can’t be missed. Last Friday, Amy set the clothes down, and for some reason, the idea of putting them in his backpack got me excited.
“Jake’s backpack is in the car!” I said. “I’ll put his clothes in his backpack.”
“Why don’t you just take them as they are?”
“No, no. I’ll bring his backpack!”
I ran to the car, and threw his clothes in his backpack. Amy left, and soon Jake and I followed without the backpack that was smack on the island, and is bright blue with Jake’s name embroidered.
I got to my in-laws and handed Jake to his grandpa, who was waiting in the driveway. That’s when it hit me.
“You got any spare clothes for Jake here?” I asked.
“We may. Did you forget them?”
I nodded, and my father-in-law nodded back.
I gave Jake a kiss. “Hey, Amy doesn’t have to know about this,” I said. Grandpa nodded back.
When I picked up Jake that afternoon, he still had his army fatigue pajama top on, but my in-laws found him a pair of sweatpants. My ruse was still in tact. I’d go home, change Jake into his clothes I’d originally packed and Amy would never know. Ha! Suck it!
Then my phone rang with Amy’s picture appearing on the screen.
“Hello?”
“Did you forget Jake’s clothes?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“His backpack is on the island.”
How did she know? “How do you know?”
“I took an early train, remember?” Remember? What a silly question.
Lazy
I hate mornings. Fuck them! Mornings require the most movement of the day. I wake up every morning feeling stiff and achy, not to mention pain from my constantly sore left knee and sports hernia. I cover the basics, and that’s it: shower, dress, wipe raspberry jam off Jake’s face, and put Jake in the car. The stairs wind me, so once I’ve gone down, only an emergency would bring me back up. I do go the extra mile on Wednesdays, though, when I take out the garbage and recycling drums.
Monday, I cleaned Jake’s breakfast off him, then he stared at me, clenched his lips and grunted twice. I knew what was happening, and his timing was awful. How could he drop a load in his diaper
when I was already downstairs? He grunted again to eliminate any doubt. I looked upstairs, where his changing table is, sighed and decided to do the right thing. For me.
I put him in the car and ignored the shit-smelling foulness as we drove to daycare. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was happier than usual, pointing out the window, repeating, “car”, “uh oh”, and “bah tee” (airplane).
I handed him to the daycare lady, and she smelled it right away.
“Someone’s got a poop.”
“Oh no,” I said. “Guess it happened in the car.”
It’s lazy, I know. But it’s a short drive to daycare, and isn’t changing diapers part of daycare? I’ve only done this once before, and by once, I mean twice.
Denouement
Back to how forgetfulness and laziness suit me. Forgetting Jake’s backpack and other things is bad. Not changing his diaper is worse. Bad is better than worse. Laziness trumps forgetfulness. Suddenly, forgetfulness is forgivable, almost sweet. I can only get away with being forgetful if I have laziness as a distracter. So there you have it.
Did I really just write all that?
This is a bald-faced lie. Tiny Gosling does not have a lot to do. All Tiny Gosling does is have a snack, swim in a pond and take a nap. The end. I mean, what the fuck? When I read this to Jake, I put it down in disbelief. He waved it at me and said, “Ah” or again. I refused.
