I walked in the front door, having been out of the house for three hours to attend a Sunday meeting. It had been a very rare afternoon of solitude for me. Our six-year-old boy met me at the door positively bursting with an announcement:
“MOM! GUESS WHAT? I CHANGED BABY MARSI’S DIAPER ALL BY MYSELF!”
His words immediately caught my attention because
a) he had never before attempted to change his little sister’s diaper.
b) he had never before expressed interest in doing so.
I very careful waded into this potentially poopy proposition.
“You really did? And… how did that go?”
“It went really good!” he replied. “I mean, I didn’t get her all the way clean or anything… but I got the old one off and the new one on!” (I later discovered that he had indeed put a fresh diaper on a dirty butt… backwards… but that’s really not too big a problem in the grand scheme of things, and anyway, beggars can’t be choosers.)
“Oh. Well… that’s good,” I carefully ventured. I craned my head in search of my husband, who had stayed at home to “babysit” while I was away. “And where was Daddy while you were changing Sister’s diaper?”
Asher cocked his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a long, loud snore.
I needed no more description because I know the scene well:
I can’t really blame him. Sometimes I fall asleep, too, when the kids are awake and there are no other adults at home. We just get tired. Six years into this parenthood thing, we are both so very tired.
But I have to say, I’ve never slept so deeply that the 6-year-old ended up changing the 22-month-old’s diaper, for goodness sake!
… It hasn’t happened yet, anyway.
© Tami Blake