This morning after I had showered and dressed and bared myself at the alter of my gods, oh ye holy spin pins, I crept towards the Jude's room to get him up for the day. I cracked the door and felt the rush of cold air push out against my face, because of course the kid gets the best air conditioner, of course he does. The future hipster king must be pleasantly chilled so that he can snuggle under his blanket.
And then I saw something that struck fear into my heart like an arrow to the chest– Pajama bottoms, on the floor. Diaper, on the floor. And one step further, a giant lump of what I could only imagine was my child's adorably bare white ass completely obscured by blanket.
So yeah, we're still having the taking-off-the-diaper problem, obviously, and it's not an isolated incident. This happens fairly regularly around here. Crafty naked baby flyin' free o' the jim-jams every chance he gets. And really, I wouldn't stop him as long as he isn't hosing down the upholstery.
With a heavy heart I trudged over and gently uncovered him expecting the worst– but... nothin'. Again, for not the first time, he had peed (and pooped!) in the diaper and THEN taken it off. Who the hell wants to wear a dirty diaper? Duh, not the Jude. I'll just take this off and put it over there, ok super.
"MAMA! Hi Mama. Mo-nin' I poot. I poots. Diaper yucky"
"Yeah I see that, dude. Naked baby."
"I da NAKEYYYYY!!!!! Peep. Oh no. Mess."
But, bless his heart, there wasn't any mess. He had just taken his dirty diaper off, set it aside, and gone back to sleep. (This time. Over the weekend he removed his diaper in the night and peed out the side of the pack n play INTO our overnight bag and then pooped in the corner. So. That was cool.)
You know what this means, right? All signs are pointing to... potty training.