If there have been "accidents," they have been of the watery, number 1 variety. And then yesterday our diaper innocence, if you will, was lost forever.
Picture this, Mark and I all ready for church, and getting packed up to be on time for Mark's meetings. Mark hands a sleeping Sam to me to put in the car seat.
I cuddle him in close for a little snuggle first.
Mark exclaims "Oh Yuck!"
I look over, mistakenly thinking that perhaps Sam had thrown up on him.
Oh, how I wish that it was puke.
All over Mark's white shirt sleeve, the couch pillow, myself (due to the cuddle), and my son's whole left side was a coating of my son's digestive product (ewww!).
But we thought, no big deal, he's three months old and this is the only time it has happened. Not too shabby.
and then it happened again.
Yet another picture for you. I come home this morning after a house call and both my men are in the bathroom. Sam is wrapped in a towel on the floor and Mark is in the shower (no need to picture this particular part). Sam is happy; smiling and cooing, kicking his legs and punching the air with his hands. Apparently, Sam had once again been busy and Mark had no choice but to shower both Sam and himself to get everything cleaned up. I go into the baby's room and it is like Hiroshima (poo style) has occur ed. "Stuff" covered stuff, like clothes and blankets, are scattered in smelly bunches. I go back into the bathroom to get Sam, and he is still really happy.
As I look down at him, I understand why he is so pleased with himself, as he proceeds to pee in a wide arc all over the floor, the towel, and himself.
It is at this point that I realize that laughter is the only real option. Because how can you get mad at a face like this:
