Poopy Boy

This morning we were greeted by a very fussy, very stubborn baby. He did not want his bottle, nor his pacifier. His diaper was clean, and his eyes were red and puffy, so we knew he was tired, whether he wanted to admit it or not. We spent a couple hours trying to soothe him. One thing would work for a little while, but soon enough he would start fussing again. We finally brought him into our bed, where he was immediately content, chatting up a storm. All of a sudden, he got reeeeeeal quiet. A few moments of silence passed and that's when we noticed it. The smell. The undeniable, unavoidable poopy diaper. In her half-sleep state, Mommy pretended she hadn't noticed yet, hoping Daddy would feel a little bit more like plunging elbow deep in that stinky, squashy, smushy mess. After a few minutes went by, Mommy groaned and picked up this smelly, squirmy little guy, only to find that the damage was done. There, on our bed, was a big, goopy glob of toxic baby waste. We looked at Jacob and he had the biggest smile on his face. He looked back and forth between the two of us looking so proud of himself. Either he was laughing at our misfortune, or it's like when dogs bring you dead animals. Perhaps our little bubba was only trying to give us a "Thanks for being the best Mommy and Daddy!" present. "Here ya go guys! Look what I made! A special squashy blend, just for you!" Thank you, big beautiful baby. We will treasure such a precious gift forever.