Eeew.

Hello all.  I am up writing this blog post at 4:00 am and I would love to describe to you all the circumstances that have led me to start my day so early.  I implore you, this is not for the faint-of-heart, so read at your own risk.

So I am sleeping peacefully in my bed, dreaming of a full night of uninterrupted slumber, when I am awakened by  the groans, grunts, and snorts of my baby boy that signify he is ready for his customary 3:00 am feeding. Nothing new here, although I am slightly disappointed because he has recently begun to occasionally make it to 4:00 or 5:00 and skipped this feeding altogether a few nights ago.  Little do I know that this will soon be the least of my worries.

I hop over to his bassinet and pick him up pretty quickly so his moaning does not awake the sleeping diva next to him.  He immediately begins to snuffle wildly against my t-shirt, pounding his giant baby-head against my collarbone as he roots for anything remotely resembling a nipple that he can shove into his mouth. He settles for sucking on my neck as I warm up his bottle.  I'm cool with that.

After his meal has been prepared, we sit down in the glider to eat.  Things go smoothly for about 3 minutes until he suddenly pauses, furrows his brow, clenches his chubby fists and hoists them above his head like a tiny Superman, and bears down with all the strength in his body, accompanied by a groan of man-sized proportions and a landslide as his diaper fills to the brim.  All this with the bottle still in his mouth.  I stare down at him, still reeling from the sudden onslaught, and the little stinker opens his blue eyes, looks up at me, gives me a milky grin, gurgles, and resumes eating.  I roll with it, finishing the feeding while attempting to breathe only through my mouth.

Fast forward to the inevitable diaper change.  As we shift positions to stand up and head to the changing table, I discover to my dismay that his diaper was no match for his recent deposit, and it has shot up the back of his pajamas and out of his leg-holes, as well as all over my t-shirt, shorts, and bare legs.  I wrap a burp cloth around his lower half and continue on to our destination.  I place him on the table and pause to contemplate my next move. He takes this opportunity to add a bit more to the mess with his signature gusto.  When I am convinced he is done, I unbutton his pajamas and realize that they have been annihilated beyond repair. Into the Diaper Genie they go.  I clean up his back so that I can lay him down and then reluctantly open his diaper. He promptly reaches down and jams his fist into the heart of the carnage.  Gagging now, I desperately hold onto his wrist while attempting to wipe the offending substance off of his hand.  As if this is not enough, he chooses this moment to urinate, giving himself a pee-pee shampoo and facial. Horrified, I hurry to wipe off his face and head, only to discover that the wipes container is empty.  Really?

After finding some more baby wipes, I am able to finish the cleanup without further incident.  As I snap him into new pajamas, he begins to coo and smile at me as if sharing a pretty good joke. I got you good, didn't I, Momma?  I cuddle him for a second and kiss his newly clean forehead, and then put him down in the swing so I can attend to his now-awake sister.  Life is good. Disgusting, but good ;)