The Tragedy of the Diaper Change

In the brief life of Owen there are a few, in fact, in no events that are as tragic as the diaper change.  He was a mere twelve hours old when the nurse came into our room at the hospital giggling, asking if we were "murdering a baby in there" because his wails were so loud--healthy lungs.  For an easy going--even the pediatrician says they don't come easier--baby this one event causes quite a commotion.  It has gotten better in the past few weeks.  He doesn't cry every time, and Dad seems to have the magic touch (all the more reason why he should be on sole diaper duty).  Some may say these pictures are cruel; I can hear my mom's rebuke already, but they were taken by Grandpa Wilson.  And for those of you familiar with the Wilson family, you will know they have a documentary photography style that is unrivaled.  No moment goes unchronicled.  Unfortunately Drew didn't get this gene, so we are thankful to have someone else to capture these moments--even the ones where Owen may be reciting that classic line from the Heart of Darkness: "The Horror! The Horror!" Drew thinks Owen gets his overly dramatic zeal from his mother, and while I find that claim a bit dramatic in itself, I do have to admit that there is some resemblance to the pouty face and pose I used to adopt when I would lie sprawled out on the kitchen floor in the morning before elementary school and exclaim that I couldn't go to school because I had a "cramp in my side."