Fourteen

The official count is in. Between my two children, there were fourteen poopy diapers today (including the one without an actual diaper). I deserve a medal.

What a Poopy Day

I have changed eight poopy diapers today. That was after the first one Kris changed before he left for work. After poopy diaper number 6, I left Luke bare-butt because I was about to put him in the shower with me. I left him for two minutes to check my email when he started saying, "Whas dat? Whas dat? Whas dat?" I turned around to see him pointing to the floor at what would technically up the number of poopy diapers to 10. Just minus the diaper. Nice. At least it was on the tile.

Dog Poop and Sweet Love - Not simultaneously

For the longest time, Luke fought me at every meal when it came time to wipe his face and hands. Then one day, like a light switch, (or like a child - whichever) he all of a sudden couldn't stand for his hands to be dirty. He now looks at me as soon as he gets even a smidgen messy, holds out his hands and says, "Hands!" very insistently until I clean his hands. Enter: the dog poop.

We were standing outside and he was dragging the rake around the yard. He came up to me saying, "Hands!" His hands were covered in a rather suspicious looking, thick mud. Oh yes, it was poop. He had dragged the rake right through the middle of the huge pile that our neighbor's dog had so lovingly left in our yard. It was on his hands, his feet, his pants, his shirt. Needless to say, he got to strip naked and play in the hose in the middle of January. He loved it. I still have the smell in my nose.

Below is a picture of sweet love. It has nothing to do with the dog poop, but I wanted to post it just because it was a rare, precious moment.