Welcome to My Sunday Afternoon

by Rebecca on October 9, 2011

If you don’t have kids, but think you may one day want them, DON’T read this post!

After staying an extra hour for choir practice, we rushed home from church this afternoon, and I hurried to feed my starving baby while Ryan got busy feeding Lydia and making five loaves of wheat bread.  (Have I told you lately that I love my husband?)

While Emma was finishing eating, I noticed her face start to contort.  As any mother can tell you, the face your child makes before doing her business is a distinctly unique face, and one not to be ignored.

Seconds later, I felt wet warmth on my lap, and knew her diapers had failed to do their job, yet again.  It only took me a millisecond to assess the damage, after which I immediately — and very eloquently– called out for reinforcements.   “AHHHHHH!!!!”

The mess was everywhere, and this was definitely not a one person job.

The hubs left the eldest child (who was being amazingly agreeable) and the mixer to take the baby off my hands while I headed to the bedroom to change my dress, both of us shouting with great amounts of aggravation to each other about our difficulties of removing poop (there, I said the word) covered clothing without spreading the mess.

Happily, I succeeded.  Unhappily, he did not.

It was time for a bath for the little newborn.

While he wiped down the changing table, I gingerly deposited the baby in her tub, only to notice the mess had spread all the way up to her ears.  That is not an exaggeration.  Because the mess was so far reaching, it had also oozed onto the baby tub, which was supposed to be the place where she would get clean.

I needed reinforcements again.   “AHHHHHH!”

The hubs came in to clean the now contaminated tub, while I held the baby under running water, then placed her back into the newly clean tub.

Once all visible traces of the offending mess were gone, I soaked the baby in her tub and vigorously scrubbed her soft little body, while Ryan took the stained clothes downstairs to be laundered.

When we were all together as a family again, Ryan informed me he had noticed the cat had thrown up all over the laundry room floor.

“I didn’t clean it up,” he said.

“I don’t blame you,” I responded.

He then took the sweet smelling, freshly clean little babe from my hands and held her up to his shoulder…

…where she promptly threw up all the contents of her stomach.

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