Diaper impossible

Sometimes it feels like the forces of nature are conspiring against you.

Friday started inauspiciously. Both little girls sprang diaper leaks during the night. (Meggie still wears a diaper to bed.) I wondered how the sisters had been able to coordinate through their bedroom walls. My guess is the tap code.

Both girls have been out of their normal routines because of spring break. Why do preschoolers need spring break? They attend class for less than three hours a day, on two or three days a week. And don't tell me it's because the teachers need a break. The teachers are at school for exactly 15 minutes longer than the kids, so that would be, oh, three hours. Of course we pay full tuition when the kids only get three weeks of school. Don't bother sending me a well-reasoned or carefully worded explanation or comment. I'm up to my elbows in excrement, and I have no appetite for logic.

So as this week of unnecessary rest progressed, poor Meggie, who is very dependent on her routines, descended into melodrama. She has had a number of breakdowns. Last night she cried because her hair is not curly and therefore "not pretty." The night before that she cried because she couldn't eat her dinner. Why couldn't she eat it? Because her tears were getting in the way. She has asked me every day whether she may go to preschool today. After having been told, for the fifth time, that there is no school this week, she turned in the performance of her career. She had to mop her face with a dish towel before 10 a.m.

Laurel had leakage problems of her own today, only from a less savory quarter. The introduction of solid food has added an element of uncertainty to her digestion. I've been approaching each diaper with a shudder. It's like playing Russian roulette. Will this be the one? Or maybe this one? This afternoon I could see the payoff was coming. She started whistling and casting about for a magazine. Scientists have not yet devised the diaper that could have contained that deposit. So I got to play another game, figuring out how to extricate the child from the mess without spreading the wealth. I settled on undressing her in a tub of warm water. Meggie came into the bathroom, announcing her intention to help but quickly thinking better of it. Smart girl.

On days like this I remind myself that I'm a level-headed adult. I know what a parent should do when overwhelmed by her children's excretions. So I took the mature course: taking the kid's third onesie of the day, putting it around her head, taking a picture of her looking like Yoda and, most importantly, posting it on the Internet.

"Poo or do not. There is no try." *

So wise (and stinky) for one so young.