I'm going to have to rename this blog "Eew! Gross! in Booland."
Viz. to wit.: (I don't actually know what that means. But I think I'm using it here correctly.)
Renaissance Woman went away with some friends for the weekend, and Mermaid Girl and I babysat for 2-year-old Little Latke for four hours yesterday. This child, you might recall, was born to my friends at something like 25 weeks gestation, and had us all very scared. Well, hah! The joke was on us. She has gone on to be the easiest, most placid kid in the entire universe. She didn't even cry when her mom dropped her off; just turned to MG and me as if to say, "Well, okay now! Let's do something fun! Because everything is fun when you're me!"
She toddled merrily around the living room but made no attempts to get into any of the sharp or dangerous objects scattered about our no-longer-babyproofed house. She played willingly with whatever we dumped in front of her: rhythm instruments, blocks, train tracks (which she put together rather skillfully). But when MG started grabbing things and insisting that she needed ALL of the (trains, blocks, instruments, etc.) to do whatever project she suddenly decided needed doing, Latke just basically shrugged, smiled, and turned away to play with whatever tiny scrap of rag MG allotted to her. It was this bizarro playtime cage-match: The World's Most Territorial 6-year-old Meets The Only Non-Territorial Toddler Ever In Existence!
Whatever MG lacked in hostessy graciousness, however, she made up for in helpfulness in one crucial area. See, I was (and am) still sick, and can't smell anything. ANYTHING. And Little Latke, smiley and accomodating as she was, is not that verbal yet (beyond an ingratiating "crackoo pease!" at snacktime). And certainly not up to informing us of crucial bodily functions. And she was wearing a one-piece outfit that didn't allow for easy peeking.
Those of you who have had be-diapered kids around lately will see where this is going.
MG performed her job with courage and aplomb as I hoisted Little Latke to her feet. And all I had to do was look at her to know that Latke was due for a change.
I would give a lot of money for a photo of MG's face at that moment. It turns out that there's nothing quite like the expression of thrilled disgusted ecstatic horror on the visage of a 6-year-old who has just smelled the poop! of a baby! in diapers! Because her mom BEGGED her to!
In any case, I don't think we'll have much whining for a baby sibling in the future. Not that we've had any lately. But I think yesterday sealed the deal.
P.S. It's Moron Monday! Go tell Rachel (and the world) something dumb you did lately. Because I can't be the only one...can I?