Jean and Merrill are home, and doing well. Yesterday we had a little Ed post-Birthday celebration. Lucas was so excited to sing “Happy Day” and even blew out my candle for me! I think one of my gifts wasn’t pink:)..
Last night was an important, precedent-setting night. We would see how Lucas would deal with Merrill sleeping in our bed, and him having to stay out of it.
It began well enough, with Lucas in his bed, downstairs, and we three others going to sleep upstairs in ours. Then the feedings began, and then sometime around 1 or so, Lucas came up. We got him segregated to his crib upstairs, but he insisted bear-hugging my neck for the next hour or two. Jean and I swapped off diaper duty with Merrill, and Lucas managed not to pee in his diaper – a mostly dependable thing.
The real fun began when it was one of my diaper turns – and for reasons unknown to anyone except “3:30am-Ed” I decided it would be a good idea to take fussy, swaddled-in-a-blanket-with-no-diaper-newborn-and-can’t-even-hold-a-fart-in-Merrill, downstairs to get a new pair of PJs after soiling her previous one. Now, given, 3am-Ed is used to dealing with this on rare occasions with Lucas, but when he’s done his business these days, he’s done for the night. I could probably throw him in bed with no diaper at all and be safe until morning. Of course we know this isn’t the case with newborns. Heck, she’d already peed on me after having her diaper off and behind cleaned a minute earlier; what could happen?
What folly. I picked Merrill up, all cooey and father-like, and took two steps towards the doorway. Warm poop squirted audibly onto my arm, and dripped, like hot fudge, onto my toe, and the floor. “TRUCK!,” I exclaimed. Or something like that, but this is a family-friendly blog. Jean speaks sternly from her warm position in bed, “Language!”
Startled by the intensity of our adult exchange, Lucas stands up in bed, and is quite excited to see “dada”, eyes squinted shut in abhorrent disbelief to what is actually happening, Merrill held at arms length, poop dripping from forearm, big left toe raised and outstretched as if to be able to detach it, “mama” coming to the rescue. He grasped the railing of his crib and began jumping up and down like a howler monkey, imagined feces in hand ready to throw at onlookers and passers-by, giggling and laughing maniacally.
Needless to say, the situation was resolved by clearer heads than I – Jean has a knack for middle-of-the-night poop transactions.
Maybe tomorrow night will be better.