“I think she needs a nappy changed,” Tracey told me on Sunday morning as Miss2 waddled by with a nappy so full it was bobbing along between her knees like a bee’s stinger. It was full in the same way the Titanic has taken on a little water.
“You saw it first,” I said.
“You should have seen it first,” Tracey countered.
She was right. I’d been up for an hour letting her have a well deserved sleep in and I hadn’t changed the nappy yet.
I picked up Miss2 and took her into the lounge room, lying her on the floor and kneeling. Thankfully, she’d only done a number one. The reason why I’m now so thankful about that will become evident in a moment.
I went to undo the nappy tags.
“I do it!” she said, slapping my hands away, standing up in front of me and clawing at the nappy.
She got purchase on one tag and tore it off, and the whole nappy dropped by two inches. It was only saved from falling all the way to the floor because the other side of the nappy snagged on her left hip.
“Now the other side,” I encouraged her, because I feel, hell, anything these kids can do without my input is to be vigorously encouraged.
Now she had two hands working feverishly on the one remaining secure tape.
What happened next I can describe in some detail because it played out in slow mode.
There was a riiiiip sound as the second tag surrendered to Miss2’s will.
As she triumphantly held the defeated tag out to her side, the overfull nappy swung back between her legs, pendulum-like, and then swung up and around her side and…
…smacked me square in the face. Hard. On the mouth. Wet side first.
And as I spluttered and gagged my way to the bathroom to soak my head in Dettol, the only positive thing I could think of was how much shittier my morning could have been if she’d done anything other than a wee.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”