S'not Fair

Snot Exclamation

Mommy has a cold, daddy has a cold, baby has a cold. For all we know Tink is off in a corner sneezing and wiping boogers on her sleeve right now.

Feeding Zane the bottle first thing when he’s all plugged up is a symphony in snot. There’s horns and violins, a small tympanic section, and even a curiously tall fellow on xylophone. None of them can keep a tune or help in getting milk into the breathing challenged baby. So dad gets out the nosefrida, sneaks in a few quick siphons before it devolves into a noisy wrestling match.

Coming off of that limited success I figured a quick diaper change and then it might be easier to get more milk into him.

First off let me boast that I am the master diaper changer. Seven months, a few zillion diapers, and only two wayward whiz incidents (I say whiz because otherwise someone might say “I liked your pee story” and I wouldn’t know if they meant pee or pea, both of which are long, elaborate tales). I have developed a sixth sense (whiz sense?) in this area unequaled by any. Truly.

At least that’s what I was thinking this morning as I hiked up his sleep sack and PJs to remove a wet diaper. I never take any precautions…because of my highly attuned senses and skills, remember? Reaching down to toss the old and grab a new diaper my spidey senses went off and I looked up to see that he was, uh, well, ready to wee. Nice that they kind of raise a flag to let you know, right? Must have been the fastest diapering ever, really fast, like Zane didn’t know what the heck that blur was fast. Adjusting the closure I noticed a few drops on the edge of his pajama. Phew, close one, must have got it on just as he was starting and a couple drops escaped.

Pajamas buttoned up, sleep sack zipped, I picked up Sir Snotalot and gave him a big daddy hug. “Hmm,” I wondered out loud, “What’s this wet stuff on your head?”

Those two drops? A couple slackers that couldn’t defy gravity. The rest of this morning’s whiz must have arched gracefully and forcefully through the chill morning air to land on the top of his head and soak the blanket above it.

Beautifully executed and easily cleaned, but I don’t think I get any credit for that.

p.s. the images have been left untouched, showing his self inflicted wound (trimmed nails this morning: better late than never) and the kind of rough skin around his mouth. I think the roughness is the result of dry weather and various foods smeared all over his delicate skin.

p.p.s. I should mention that Faith and Zane went to his first political rally yesterday in Lebanon.

Baby Trumpeter