Jane has had a running nightmare ever since Steve and she took a babycare class: their baby’s poop fills her diaper and smears over every part of her.
You got it.
Today, we got it.
It was our first poop. A real initiation ritual. For Steve.
Jane couldn’t stop saying “Oh God!” and turning away.
Steve grabbed the baby wipes, the toilet paper, and went to work. It wasn’t a quick job. Jane held Jem by the feet, keeping her rear off the blanket, and wincing.
“Tell me when you’re done,” she said. “Get all the poop out of her privates, for God’s sake!” (Suddenly Jane’s getting religious?)
Jem, on the other hand, was chill. She just lay there, for most of the mop up, as if this was an every day occurrence. (Please God, no!)
Minutes later, we were Velcro-ing on a new diaper and feeling pretty proud of Steve.
p.s.—Jane was the Queen of Puke today. Jem’s choice, of course, not Jane’s.
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