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Mrs. President, in a somber pose.






Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Riley loves being on the changing table. I don't know why, maybe it's the proximity to our looming faces, or the relative quiet of his room, or maybe he just enjoys the supple, contoured curves of the Simmons pad under his squirming self, but whatever the reason he starts wiggling and smiling almost the moment we plop him on there. It's been great for this screaming demon-child behavior he's been into lately; when the flames start shooting out of his head, a quick visit to the Happy Table will often distract him from the pressing business of channeling Satan long enough to affix a strip of duct tape over his mouth offer him a bottle or pacifier.

He also enjoys being asked if he pooped his pants. I have developed a habit of sing-songing "Did you poop your pants?" while he's on the table and he just goes nuts, squealing and grinning. "Did you poop your pants? Did you poop your pants? You did? You did poop your pants? Oh, you pooped your pants!"

Note that there does not have to be actual poop in order to play the Did You Poop Your Pants game.

(The festivity of the changing table does not extend to the changing of the diaper, sadly. As he's gotten stronger, it's becoming more and more of a wrestling match, where I very much feel as though I am dealing with a thrashing squid, one that is likely to shoot a stream of urine in my eye.)

We are driving down to Coos Bay tomorrow for the holiday. Visiting JB's family has always involved a strategic pack-job, the weather on the coast is totally unpredictable and you need everything from t-shirts to coats made of yak hide, but now, with a baby in tow? And all the millions of washcloths and outfits he soils every 2.4 seconds? I need a U-Haul, basically. What would be really silly is if I brought the changing pad, too, with the prospect of using it as a calming device rather than a shit-repellant.


The family you see barreling down I-5 this week, their truck bursting at the seams with dog toys and baby wipes, broadcasting a desperate voice over the highway noise ("Did you poop your pants? You did?"), give them a wave, okay? Have a wonderful Thanksgiving if you're celebrating.


P.S. I forgot to thank you earlier for the recipes and suggestions! Thank you!

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