|Seems like we have better access this way, mom.|
Now that he has gained some independence, his personality is unfolding. Most of the time I am amazed by his genius, his tenderness, his focus, and his invention. But today I am amazed at his irritating acrobatics.
Add to the recent biting phenomena his strong-willed resistance to have a clean butt. I know it's a big world, baby! And you can't be held down by 'the man' (or in my case 'the woman'). But I REALLY don't like poo under my nails or on the bottom of your feet! There's no way that poo feels good in all your, um, creases, either.
Please, I beg you, PLEASE let me change you!
I've got lots of coping skills down. I belt out "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" like a cheesy dinner theatre singer. I shake rattles and tambourines with one hand while I try to maneuver around the poo with the other. I have even resorted to (gasp) giving him the telephone, remote control, or baby monitor to play with during changes. On many occasions, I call in the big guns: daddy. He provides comedic relief if nothing else.
Alas, the window of time he allows for changing is small and shrinking every day.
So today E won the battle, momentarily. "Freebird" as we often call him, got to fly commando for a few glorious, fleeting moments. Potty training? Sign me up.