My shitty Christmas
Ok, misleading title, considering that it is Christmas Eve's Eve, but the title stands. And you'll enjoy the story.
My sister got into town tonight, joining me in my baby-sitting activities. Heather had to run to the story for some Christmas shopping, sans her two sons (my fourteen-month old nephews). She, very wisely, changed their diapers before heading out, knowing that good old Auntie Ace does not do that.
Ten minutes after she left, the fragrant aroma of a full diaper filled the air. I hollered up the stairs that someone needed to change Drew. My father replied that that was all me. Which I disagreed with. Loudly and repeatedly. Until my sister came down to take care of baby business.
Jen commented that she didn't really know how to change a diaper, because it had been many a'year. My reply was that you never forget how. It's like riding a bike. A smelly, smelly bike.
Turns out, you do forget. Or Jen forgets. It was, hands-down, the worst diaper-changing in the history of yucky diapers. Let's hope Jen doesn't have kids.
We'll skip over some of the less-than-spectacular details. Suffice it to say that poor Drew had *stuff* all over his back, all over his clothes, and went through two diapers. My father's carpet needs to be cleaned, too. And my sister's jeans. And her socks.
I, being the helpful person that I am, took the other twin and we left the room. In my defense, I had announced that I don't do diapers, the room smelled, and there was a crying baby. I don't actually like babies too much, and this diaper incident might be why.
The up-shot to this story is that it just saved me $20 next month on birth control.
My sister got into town tonight, joining me in my baby-sitting activities. Heather had to run to the story for some Christmas shopping, sans her two sons (my fourteen-month old nephews). She, very wisely, changed their diapers before heading out, knowing that good old Auntie Ace does not do that.
Ten minutes after she left, the fragrant aroma of a full diaper filled the air. I hollered up the stairs that someone needed to change Drew. My father replied that that was all me. Which I disagreed with. Loudly and repeatedly. Until my sister came down to take care of baby business.
Jen commented that she didn't really know how to change a diaper, because it had been many a'year. My reply was that you never forget how. It's like riding a bike. A smelly, smelly bike.
Turns out, you do forget. Or Jen forgets. It was, hands-down, the worst diaper-changing in the history of yucky diapers. Let's hope Jen doesn't have kids.
We'll skip over some of the less-than-spectacular details. Suffice it to say that poor Drew had *stuff* all over his back, all over his clothes, and went through two diapers. My father's carpet needs to be cleaned, too. And my sister's jeans. And her socks.
I, being the helpful person that I am, took the other twin and we left the room. In my defense, I had announced that I don't do diapers, the room smelled, and there was a crying baby. I don't actually like babies too much, and this diaper incident might be why.
The up-shot to this story is that it just saved me $20 next month on birth control.
posted by Ace | 8:51 PM
5 Comments:
At least you didn't wake up this morning to see that your cat had pooped outside your bedroom door. Well, your dad will wake up to see that his grandson pooped on his carpet... I guess we're all having a crappy season.
In my defense, I had sandwich baggies on my hands...severe movement restriction...
P.S. guess who "anonymous" is
Your defense revolves around sandwich baggies? Does that make it seem better?
Considering I was making you a sandwich afterward...and considering you were laughing your ass off...yes, that makes it better.
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