I would change diapers.       I have changed diapers, but don't anymore.     I would change babies diapers if I had my own.       I would change your daughters diapers, and your sons. I would learn to change diapers again         . I would learn how to turn the diaper in reverse if I had placed it on the wrong way at first. I would learn how to roll a grown person over on their side if I wanted to change their diaper without having to rip off the old one and put a new one on.         I would change diapers even if I didn't want to. If there were no diapers to change, then that's good, because changing diapers isn't too appealing. I'd rather be drinking with friends, or reading a book. I'd rather have my legs kicked up on the table while smoking. I'd rather compain about this one or that one, and how this ones diaper always falls off, and that one always turns when I'm strapping the diaper together. I rather do anything else in the world, but then again, when I'm changing diapers, I'm alone. I feel my fingers as they work around the body of this limp and disabled person; how the person can't change their own diapers. And then it hits me. This is something they can't do. I'm dong it for them, and even for just a moment, if it smells, or if it takes too long to get the diaper around their body, I'm still changing diapers for a person who can't, and that's what keeps my mind at ease. This is my personal time with them. This is the one time where they recieve any close contact with other people. No fake hugs. No silly dances or ridiuclous cuddles. If I could go back and change that night that the mananger walked in on all of us on the couches, and I was up, maybe changing a diaper, then I wouldn't have to want to change anything, except, maybe, for more diapers. But I'd rather not; it's quite unpleasant.