I am sitting in my bed a little wary of going to sleep because there is a yellow jacket in our bedroom. Kill it you say? I wish I could, but now I can't find it, so I feel like it is just hovering somewhere waiting for me to go to bed so it can attack me in my sleep.
So while I wait for it to come out, like some kind of insect stand off, I have to tell you about the second major poop incident of my baby raising career. First of all, how do these things always happen when Jeris is around? She must think I have no idea how to put on a diaper correctly.
What happened was that Raughley was hanging out in his bumbo, minding his own business, when we notice him straining and turning bright red all over his face, including his eyeballs- poor little dude, to have to poop in public! Anyway, after waiting on him to finish his business, I picked him up to carry him to the changing table when poop starts draining out of the sides of his diaper, ending up on the bumbo, the rattle, his outfit, the counter, ME. Yikes, such a mess to clean up, and I ended up folding in the midst of the crisis and just standing there holding him, dripping, while Jeris ran around my house gathering baby tubs, towels, soap, and wipes. We ended up having an impromptu bathing session while lysoling everything in a six foot radius of the poor little naked baby. He made it through, and so did we, and headed straight for zona rosa to de-stress over margaritas.
In spite of these lovely experiences, I find myself laughing at how concerned I am with someone else's bathroom schedule. I am keeping a daily mental checklist-
"how many? what time? what color? " (eeeewww) All in a days work.
R post poop cleaning party. "Why do they do this to me?"
The next day, (today), was spend watching football and hanging out with my parents. (Chase is in Nashville for the Titans game having a guy weekend.)
Yay Alabama!
Watching the game with Pop, such a proper baby, notice how he folds his hands.