Before Hannah was born we agreed that I would be in charge of poop and my husband in charge of puke. My gag reflex always got the best of me so I figured I would stick with the stinky stuff.
And stinky it is. These days we call them "truck driver" poops. No offense to truck drivers. They just resemble the odour that emits from a port-o-potty. Especially since we introduced yogourt last week.
But my issue isn't with the stench. It's my inability to physically change a diaper. With a wriggly baby who breaks out in shrill cries the moment she is laid down on her back. I've tried to change her sitting up but she just rolls back on to her tummy. Or looks as though she is about to fall off of her dresser.
So this afternoon, I put the changing mat right on the floor.
But that didn't work.
Then, I tried on our bed.
It is now covered in pee.
Hmm...I wonder if they make pull-ups in size 3...then the diaper application could be done in one felt swoop and she could stand (supported) the entire time.
In the meantime, I'l hope for infrequent diaper changes. Or at least a second set of hands to help pin her down with an arsenal of raspberries to turn her cries into delightful tickles.
As I write this, the sound of a BB gun poof (aka fart) emits from her tush. 5:22pm. Dad will be home soon.
Hopefully she can sit in out, while she sits in it...