There are two things I love the most in the world (that aren’t personal) – dogs and babies. Anytime there’s been a new born in our family, I have been quite excited to spend time with the baby. Lucky as I was, three of my cousins spent time at my place, after giving birth to their handsome boys.

The first baby I ever had full-time interaction with was Tricks. He was a beautiful baby boy who would love to do a kind of cycling exercise with his chubby legs. My mother and father had pampered him so much that he’d go to sleep only in someone’s arms or lap. He was a happy baby, always smiling and laughing. It was part of the attraction. Our house was like a sweet spot for anyone who was feeling down. They’d visit here, play with him for a while and leave with lifted spirits. It’s quite rare for a baby to be such a cherubic angel to let his momma sleep at night and eat while she was hungry. Yes, that was our Tricks.

Two things would make him throw a fit – bathing and a wet diaper. We should have probably draw parallels there and realized that he didn’t like anything wet. He’d wail like a siren when a lukewarm splash hit him and wouldn’t stop until they towel dried him and warmed him up over the incense fumes. When every droplet of water was off him, the sobs would stop as if there was an emergency off button. He’d happily go to sleep and smile in his dreams.

A few months later, my mother and cousin decided to go shopping. They took me along to be his nanny under supervision. Everything was fine for the first hour. Just as we began to check a few items off the to-do list, the cries began. At first he was just a little cranky. I can’t blame him, it was a crowded area and I felt the same way. Slowly, his cries turned to squeals. I tried distracting him by showing him toys, singing in his ears, and rocking him gently on the street. As the adults went into a store, I found a place to sit and cradle him. He was so loud and people on the street began looking at me as if I was harming him. Then it happened. I screamed. He suddenly bit my arm out of frustration. You could say, “He’s just a baby how much would it hurt?” Seriously, they don’t know their strength. I thought he was hungry and fished his bottle out of the bag. He threw it away. He went at my arm twice, thrice and again, and he wouldn’t let go with his few little teeth sunken deep like pincers. That’s when I knew, he hadn’t been changed in hours. I don’t remember what happened next as I was in pain with bitemarks all over my right arm, and angry at both the adults for putting me in the situation. I do remember going to school the next day with colored bruises all over, trying to explain the horror story of the previous night.

They called it, “The Wet Diaper” story, and it had a moral too. A dry baby is a happy baby. Wet diapers, turn them into little monsters and we don’t want that do we?