Ever since Noah had the diaper-rash-from-hell-that-refused-to-go-away, Bobby and I have been in the practice of giving him a little “naked time,” most nights. Basically he crawls around without a diaper on for a few minutes, and we laugh at home funny he looks pulling up on various pieces of furniture while bare-bottomed.
But this. This had never happened.
I was waiting for Bobby to run Noah’s bath and decided to go ahead and take off his clothes and diaper. I set him on the floor and turned back toward the changing table for a moment, I guess to gather up his dirty clothes from the day to toss into the laundry hamper.
And then I heard the tell-tale grunting.
“No. No, no, no. Oh, shit.” I looked at him. I looked desperately back at the changing table. I looked at him.
And I did the only thing that came to mind that could possibly keep us from getting poop all over the rug in his nursery. I picked him up, ran to the bathroom and held him over the toilet.
Not particularly graceful, but it was effective.