I've never considered myself to be tolerant of being urinated on. Throughout my life before parenthood I can honestly not remember it ever happening to me, and I've never felt like I've missed out on anything. RKelly jokes aside, it's just not appealing to have someone else's waste poured on you.
I have the distinct honor of being the first parent to be baptized by our son. The maiden voyage on the U.S.S.P.P happened during his first bath. He was laying on a towel on the sink and both of us had turned our heads for just a moment when my shoulder felt suddenly warm, then moist. How did I react, naturally I put my hand up, changed my shirt and moved on with little more than a chuckle.
Since we have learned the lesson that little boys will urinate upon immediate contact with air. Thus removing the diaper becomes an act of skill. My son has peed on himself already more times than I care to mention. Face, hair, belly, arms, back. He has expressed his displeasure with our choice of window blinds and paint color in a like manner. To save yet another cleaning of the wall, I have elected to have my hand covered in pee more than once.
I'm getting quicker with the new diaper as well, but then you've wasted a diaper. And while diapers aren't comparable to rare coinage in value, I'm too miserly to throw anything away. No, before you ask, I don't put it on anyway, I just hate throwing a slightly damp diaper away. So I resist the urge to let it air dry and throw it in the Diaper Genie anyway. And I sulk.
It's amazing the things you become accustomed to. Being peed on. Cleaning someone else's anus. Being spit up on. Ear bloodying screams. And we're not even four weeks in. Think of what I'll become numb to next week.