The day the changing table bit the dust...

Some days, life with the kidlets is so smooth and easy and fun. Some days, they don't let me eat or go to the bathroom. I was having one of the latter.

Jonas was awake way past nap time, and was screaming bloody murder. I thought he was just overtired, and was trying everything in my Mommy arsenol to get him to go to sleep. After watching him start to doze off then wake back up and scream some more approximately 13 times, it occurred to me to figure out what was bothering him. In a word? Poop.

So now I've got a clean, dry, severely cranky and overtired baby on my hands. I'm bouncing him on the ball, and he's falling asleep for real when Jaynie comes running in, yelling "ARE YOU SLEEPING YET, BABY JONAS? ARE YOU TAKING YOUR NAP???" Sigh.

So after a few of these helpful conversations, I start begging her. "Please. Please Jaynie. Please just go play in your room for a few minutes. Please."

She runs off, Jonas starts dozing, I put him in the bed and start to sneak out of the room. Two things happen - 1) Jonas starts screaming ("How DARE you leave me in this room alone! Get your boobs back in here!"), and I spot Madam standing on top of her changing table. Needless to say, Jonas lost out on that one.

I rush in and survey the situation. Seems that even though we removed the shelf from the table months ago after she figured out how to climb it, she can now get up there again. We have a little shelf mounted on the wall above it where we keep diapers, wipes, creams, etc. She was reaching up, trying to open the wipes, when I got there. I told her no and put my hand on the box... and came away with a very greasy hand.

I look at it. It's covered in Vaseline. Uh oh.

I look at her. She has two handfuls, its all over her face, in her hair, and on her shirt. She says to me, and I quote... "I need a wipe!"

Yeah - it's funny now. At the time, with Jonas screaming bloody murder in the next room? Not so freaking funny. Sometimes I worry that I might actually not survive this Mommy thing. I suspect they're trying to kill me. Slowly.