The Dirty Diaper

I am waiting for Spiff to decide he needs a diaper change. He stinks to high heaven but he doesn't care. I do, I can't even stand to be 5 feet away from him I don't know how he can stand to have his nose a mere 15 inches above the sewage factory that is his rear end. How can Spiff sniff that and not want a change?

I bought him size 5 diapers the other day. They should last a month. I told him I was hopeful this was the last box of diapers I ever buy for him. It's unrealistic so that is why I am not planning on it, merely hopeful. Size 5 is also the end of the diaper line. Next is pull-ups. Of course, this isn't incentive as he could probably be in size 5 until he IS 5, he's so small.

The DVD that was playing has ended and its menu song just keeps repeating. Still this is not incentive for him to get a diaper change. He wants to play. I told him I can't until he gets his diaper changed. I can't stand to smell him. Still this is not incentive to get a diaper change. I told him we can't go outside until he gets changed. Still this is not incentive to get a diaper change. I say he will miss Caillou because he won't get a diaper change--

Ah, results! Parenting at it's best, right here, folks.

Worn Out

As I write this I am soaking a bunch of stained hand-me-downs for Squidgee in the sink. It's the second time around in oxy-clean for the pjs but I just feel like a second-born kid gets enough crap without having to wear its stains. I feel so strongly about that that he has a couple new pajamas to add to his wardrobe and if the stains don't come out I will not feel in the least bit badly about throwing them out. Most of Spiff's old clothes have a lot of life in them yet. Having a second kid is one way to feel less badly about all the wasted money that goes into clothes that are so quickly out-grown. But I suppose a second kid should also get to call something his own. After all most of his toys, clothes, bedding and even parents are second-hand and (especially the parents.) a little worn out.

The Grouchies

Today was a grouchy day in all respects. Squidgee is teething and therefore already grouchy and too ouchy to sleep which made him even more grouchy. Spiff is two and and a half which is a good enough reason in itself but also just happened to also wake up on the wrong side of the bed which shouldn't even happen since his bed is pushed up against the wall and there is only one side to wake up on. He was whiny and needy all day with the ever-so-vague and even-more-annoying "I want something" chorus on repeat mode. He must have said it about 300 times. Sounds like a lot, but it is likely to be an accurate count since he said it every half hour and at least 15 times in a row when he did. By 4:00 I was sick of hearing it and about to scream! I said as much, and I must have said it in a not-so-very nice manner since Spiff's whining became crying. "Be nice to me!" he sobbed. "I'm a kid!" Which really put it all into perspective. I swooped him up over the trying-to-nurse Sqidgee and gave him a big hug. Kids aren't stupid. He knew he found a good line, and boy did he use it. "I'm a kid, I'm a kid, I'm a kid. Be nice," he sobbed, beating me into an ever lower feeling. But all in all, while that broke my heart, it sure beat hearing the I-want-somethings. He was so obviously tired, fifteen minutes later he fell asleep and I let him since I was just as tired even though it meant a hysterical wake-up and postponed bedtime. But it also meant The Guy and I had a nice relaxing quiet dinner without a two year old telling us to "Stop talking." Some advice is nice, the ordering about by an even more diminutive-than-the-original Napoleon is not. So, yes, yes, it was worth it.