In my last post I mentioned Gunnar welcoming Patrick to the Daddy Club with loads of worry. Well he also did it with loads of poop. Tuesday afternoon on our way home from dropping his parents off at the airport, I smelled something and told him we had better pull over and inspect the current diaper situation.
Well it was a disaster. We're talking e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. The poor kid was practically swimming in it. So there we were, in a parking lot of an abandoned collision repair place, on the side highway 70, bathing him in wipes. It was Pat's first dealings with a poopy diaper. It was so bad we had to strip him down and I held up his naked little body for Pat to wipe down his back.
And what do you think the kid did the whole time we were changing him? Laugh. Hysterically. Which made us laugh hysterically. Tears-running-down-our-faces laughing. We fell more in love with him right then and there. As if that was even possible.