My Baby Is A Poo Marine

“In the air, on land, and sea,” (That’s the Marine’s, right?)

Exhibit A: Sea

The boy likes bath time. (And I’m grateful.) We used the little infant bath seat once, and then Husband decided to get in with him to keep a better hold of him … and then it just evolved into Father/Son time and they both love it. We all love it, ’cause it gives me time to put the bed back together and get myself ready for sleep.

As much as they both enjoy it, and as helpful as it is to me, I was surprised the first few times at how quickly it ended. After two or three earnest inquiries about the status of Meatball’s diaper pre-bath, though, I figured it out.

“You’re afraid he’s going to poo in the bathtub, aren’t you?” 

“Shouldn’t I be?”

And then, just last week, Husband’s fears were justified.

I stripped the baby, doted on his cute, skinny butt in the bathroom mirror for a moment, and handed him down into the tub. (Evidence in itself of how much Husband loves this boy – that he sits in anything but a scalding hot bath.) I heard a warm welcome and an excited squeal as I turned my back, and then a gasp, a splash, and a, “GAH! … BOY! … I! … YOU! …,” followed by a long sigh.

I turned around in time to see Meatball exalted like baby Simba, high above Husband’s fresh poo-bath – a few inches of lukewarm water speckled with bright yellow baby poop. The baby, obviously pleased with his marine ambush, wore an enthusiastic grin on his little visage. Husband just held his breath for a moment, lips pressed together, caught somewhere between an expletive and a laugh.

Husband cleaned the tub and showered. I washed the Meatball and wrapped him, still giggly, in his ducky towel to get ready for bed.

Tomorrow – Exhibit B: Air