I have changed 2 hideous diapers for Ashton today and I have to be honest - they were horrifying. Sure, zombies and chain saws are scary but true horror is what I faced with only some wet towels. There wasn't even the usual scary music to clue me in on what was coming.
This leads me to my point. How is it that, when I can hardly stand to be in the same room as my cute but severely odorific (not a real word but it should be) son, he is smiling jovially up at me. I am gagging and he is chanting "diaper rash". (Which does not mean a less than pleasant skin irritation on the less than pleasant part of his anatomy. What he means is "diaper trash" as in, Can I please put my own diaper in the trash? To which I answer, yes please and thank all the saints in heaven that I don't have to around this little gem any longer than is absolutely necessary.)
Sorry, I digress.
Why is it that I am practically retching from the stench and he can grab the offensive bundle of nasty and tuck it under his arm like a pro wide-receiver? This, of course, keeps it safe from all those 200 pound 2 year olds who are trying to force the fumble thereby retrieving the effects of the more than adequate, workings of his inner bowel. Seriously, due to the fact that he has shorter arms and torso and an overly large cranium (don't all toddlers?) his cradling of the cr** puts it just 3 inches from his nose. How is he still alive?!?
This is my question. This is what I think about when the temp hits 110. Okay, honestly, this is what I think of regardless of the temp. It is hard to be me.