It started with a diaper change.
The baby felt squishy so I sent The Rock Star up to get a diaper for me. Is it slave labor if the kid likes to run little errands for his brother? I laid Matthew down on top of a Christmas blanket covered chest in our living room. I pulled off the boy's pants and realized that there was poop squashing out of the leg holes. Garrett appeared and I asked him to run up and bring the wipes back down. I held Matthew's legs up above his body like a raw chicken I planned to defrost and waited for the wipes. The Rock Star returned with a tiny pack that was unopened and would have definitely involved two hands. I only had one free hand. Truth be told, I had no free hands. One was completing the task of holding him like a dead chicken and the other was pressed against his chest in the hopeful prevention of the otherwise inevitable rolling that would commence the moment I let go. I really didn't want feces smeared all over my Christmas blanket. I instructed The Rock Star to go get the opened package of wipes that were, likely, on top of my bed. "And hurry!" I added with urgency. Matthew giggled, arched his back, and tried to escape my chicken hold.
Garrett was halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rang. I had to get it. UPS came by yesterday while I was in the shower and left a note saying they needed a signature and would be back the next day. The next day was today at the precise moment that I was wrangling my son like he was poultry. "The door!" Garrett screamed while he chucked the wipes at me and ran to look out the window and see who it was. The dog, who loses all ability to behave when he hears the doorbell, came screeching into the living room and barely stopped to sniff the baby's dirty, naked buttocks. I didn't know what to do. Do I set my poopy child on the floor and clean it up later? Do I ignore the door and burn another delivery attempt? And what does it say about me that I lost control over my decision making process and simply started thinking about what a great blog it would make when I finally decided what to do?
"Hold on just a second," I yelled at the unopened door. I picked Matthew up, like a pig on the spit, with his feet and hands gathered in one of mine, and unlocked the door with my other hand. "Hi there. Sorry. I'm in the middle of changing a diaper."
"No problem. I just need your signature."
I know. Could you maybe turn your little board toward me and give me the pen and I'll provide you with my autograph? He held the board out to me. There was no way I could take it and maneuver Filthy Butt so as not to get poop on my walls. Especially given the fact that Filthy Butt was attempting to get loose from the grip of death I had on his wrists and ankles. I shifted my body several times, including one where UPS worker got a glimpse of full frontal nudity from my little man, in an attempt to brace the baby against the wall. Yeah. UPS guy saw what the stork saw--and he saw it covered in poop. I'm sure he doesn't get paid enough for that.
"Do you need a second?" He asked.
I darted inside and wiped Little Buddy's bum in lightening speed. I could hear the UPS guy yelling things back to his truck. I didn't know they traveled in pairs. I thought they worked alone. "Hold on!" He called out. "She's gonna be just a minute." After a short pause. "Hold on, dude, she's changing a diaper." I deposited the naked (but no longer poop covered) baby on the floor, returned to the door where my older son was chatting off the UPS guy's ear (go figure) and signed the board. Matthew crawled up, naked as a jaybird, twisted onto his newly cleaned behind, and laughed at the UPS guy. "Have a good day," he smiled as he walked away.
Oh, I will. I thought. But I'm sure that was an image you won't soon get out of your head.