Friday morning, the baby destroyed his crib.
I woke up to hear the baby crying, and staggered into the nursery. Experienced parents will know the feeling: I walked into the room and my nostrils were assaulted by the smell of the world’s most horrible diaper. The smell was so strong, I knew instantly that the problem was not contained. The entire crib was a biohazard.
Okay, the entire crib wasn’t a biohazard. Just one half of it. And all of Jonathan’s body. And all of his clothing.
I didn’t even try to change the diaper; I just stripped myself, stripped him and wiped up some of the damage, and then turned on the shower. John was fascinated with the running water, and he was cute enough I let him live.
“You owe me,” I said to Ethan after I had fed the baby, changed his sheets, and put him back to bed for a nap.
Sunday afternoon, I was taking a nap and woke up to see Ethan holding a fluffy green towel with our baby in it. John looked quite happy and comfortable, with his hair spiked into a little faux-hawk. I could hear the washing machine running in the other room.
“Now we’re even,” said Ethan, and went to get the baby dressed. ♥