I should quit my job and write advertising for contraceptives.
This morning at around 6:45am, Meg was drying her hair and I was trying to will myself out of bed. When she turned off the dryer, I heard that Austin was screaming his head off. It sounded like he’d been at it for a while, which surprised me since normally the girl would have wandered in pissed off that he disturbed her beauty sleep.
Why didn’t I hear him over the monitor? It was giving off some weird static last night, so Meg just turned it off. It’s amazing the difference between the first and second child. If the monitor started to misbehave when Leanne was young, Meg would have slept outside of her room with her ear literally pressed against the door while I pursued an engineering degree online and fashioned a new one out of spare phone chargers and a potato until we could buy a new one the next day. With Austin, the moment it starts to act up, we not only shut it off, but actively get pissed at him for the inconvenience of having to expose an arm to the cold air outside of the blankets.
Sadly, that’s not the real story here. He was screaming pretty loudly, so I decided to go see what’s wrong. Keep in mind the proper mental image here. I’m going straight from bed and walking 30 feet down the hall to the boy’s room.
I open the door to find his sleep blanket draped over the side of his crib. Not the best omen, but not all together a surprise these days either. Next to it, also hanging over the side of the crib, are his pajamas.
At this point, even my coffee-deprived brain can do simple math. There weren’t many layers left between, let’s just put it mildly and call it “between Austin and the world.”
Sure enough, sitting on the floor in front of the crib is Austin’s diaper. Sitting on the floor — the carpeted floor — next to the diaper, are the contents of Austin’s diaper.