This is how my day began:
It was a GOOD idea to throw a poopy diaper across the room.
Backtrack: After a few weeks of insomnia, resulting in dreadfully sleepy mornings, I was finally able to get up early for my yoga practice. If I don’t do this, I have to choose to sacrifice either yoga or writing during the boys’ afternoon nap. Lately, mamaguru has been chopped. (P.S. Sorry)
I got up about 25 minutes later than I should if I want to complete my practice without interruption, so I knew I would have to pause to get the boys up and fed breakfast before I finished. Hopefully, my calm mind and warm body wouldn’t freeze during the ten minute break.
The moment I walked in the room, the stench hit me. Oh poop! You’ve ruined my life again!
As I gasped for breath a memory of last night’s sneak into the nursery hit me. I had noticed the odor of waste when, at 10 o’clock, I had spied on them, covered their shoulders with blankets and was awestruck by their angelic faces. It is not their usual pattern to poop at night and I felt bad leaving, but there’s no sense in waking a sleeping baby, so I left it for morning.
Only, now it was morning and the smell was coming from Jack and Jack hates diaper changes so much that we moved them to after breakfast, which is gross, but we got so sick of starting every morning with World War III that we thought, eh, another half an hour isn’t gonna kill anyone. But a diaper full of poop that has been sitting for hours must be changed pronto.
Jack screamed when he realized he would be getting a diaper change before his morning banana. Then he pled his case, imitating my voice with perfect pitch as he shook his head, “No more. No more.”
We hadn’t even begun. His 25 pound body is pure passion and he throws it around with gusto when he’s mad. Kicking, screeching, twisting, arching his back and inadvertently dragging out the whole process. While I was trying to both gently and quickly wipe the crusty poop from his bottom, he reached for the dirty diaper.
I swatted his hand away. He did it again, all the while contorting his body and screaming at the top of his lungs. This time I thought I saw him get a hold of some poop, so I lunged for his hand so before he could put it in his mouth. The sneaky kid saw an opening and reached his other hand down for the diaper. My mom reflexes kicked in and I seized it in just the nick of time. My starving baby writhing on a table full of feces started to resemble a ladies’ mud-wresting tournament, so I had no time or hand to waste.
I flung that unwrapped poopy diaper on the floor.
Enter newly awake husband, “Honey, do you need some help?”
“There’s a poopy diaper on the floor.”
He looked down at the mess and back up at me. I afforded him one glance and he opted not to question me.
Now that’s marriage.
Two minutes later Jack was happily gnawing at his banana. Andres was preparing the yogurt and cereal. Max was curiously circling me.
I was back on my yoga mat assuming the posture of a warrior.
Baby Jack: bring it.
Bonus Jack shot, because I can't bear to only show you his sad face.
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