"It's Mommy's turn!" I hear my husband singsong to the boys, kicking and playing happily in their bouncy chairs this morning. Dang it, he's right. I can smell the distinct baby-poop scent wafting my way. I'd weaseled my may out of several poopy diapers over the weekend because "I do it all week - you can do it on the weekends!" (Don't knock me - it's still working).
Sniff, sniff..."Which one?" I ask. They both smile and kick. I choose Matthew. It's time to change them out of their pj's anyway, so I lay out the blanket and haul over two sets of overalls, two diapers, and the wipes. Matthew laughs and coos as I unfasten the diaper as if great fun is about to be had. I reach to keep his left foot from crashing into his poo and jam my own finger into the small pile of rank, warm mush. "Eww, Matthew, ewww!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I cry, as he kicks his right foot into the mess. "Matthew, stop that!" I laugh.
Steve, of course, thinks this is totally hilarious, and takes this opportunity to remind me that HE had to change all the poopy diapers this weekend, so I deserve the mess Matthew is making. ""Har, har," I retort.
Nathan, by the way, has been watching the scene lying alongside Matthew, quiet as can be. Steve gloats in his victory of having chosen the clean baby.
Great fun WAS had by all when he opened Nathan's diaper to find the biggest load of stinky baby doody he's created in weeks!