The thing about boys...

So I'm still learning about boys. Like how changing a boy's diaper is different from changing a girl's diaper.

I know, this should be obvious. It's something I understand in theory, and most of the time both Matt and I are good about keeping a spare diaper handy for strategic placement when the DANGER ZONE is left uncovered. But we're prone to careless moments, because we are human and because we are not getting a great deal of sleep these days. And you know perfectly well that any child of mine is going to take advantage of those careless moments, even a sweet little babe like Isaac. So we've had those sudden little fountains erupting in the middle of perfectly ordinary diaper changes, and so far they've just made us laugh.

Until this afternoon, when I was trying to change Isaac and give Suzannah the attention she needed and get the dog fed so she'd stop barking angrily at me because I was five minutes late doing that. I settled Suzannah at her little work table with her new stamps and ink pad, got the dog fed so she'd stop bothering Suzannah who would in turn bother me, and rushed through a diaper change. Rushed too much, as it turns out, because I left my little man not only uncovered but stark naked on the changing pad in his crib while I rummaged around for a new diaper and some new jammies.

Not only did he manage to pee straight up in the air, all over me, over the side of the crib, onto the floor, and back on to his own belly, but he chose that precise moment to shoot a violent stream of seedy yellow newborn poop out of his darling little bottom. That stuff managed to get smeared all over his back while I grabbed a handful of his cloth prefolds to mop it up. (Sidenote: I love our cloth diapers so much. We started with disposables to get us through the icky meconium phase and to get used to using the cloth in general, but I won't miss those at all. I have not had one single leak with our cloth diapers. Plus, they're so much cuter.)

Suzannah appeared in the doorway and regarded us with mild interest.

"Well, your brother needs a bath before you do tonight," I told her. "Want to help Mama clean him up?"

She considered this for a moment and then replied, "Okay."

Isaac takes his baths like a man, so that was pretty uneventful. He wasn't pleased about being suddenly UNSNUGGLED and PUT IN WATER, but he settled down quickly afterwards. When I emerged from the bathroom with my swaddled little boy and his Dangerous Equipment, I finally noticed that my other child was covered in smeary pink ink from her new stamp set. She had hot pink fingers and colorful smudges all over her pants and sweatshirt. Her table was all inky, and I found myself thanking God that I'd put an old towel underneath it over the carpet because that was decorated with hot pink smudges as well. Normally, Suzannah is almost freakishly neat and tidy, but perhaps I still shouldn't leave her unsupervised with art supplies. (Which is obviously something else I understand in theory, but this is the girl who didn't even need a bib as a baby because she so disliked being messy. I'm sure Isaac will be the child who gives himself a mohawk with sweet potatoes.)

Next week I'm officially a stay-at-home mother of two children, all on my own, for the next eight months. Say a little prayer for me.

(And good grief, I haven't even changed my shirt yet. For some reason I thought it'd be better to rush in here and share this with the world first.)