Poor Baby!

My poor little Ike's got a sick tummy. I don't think it's the flu- he's not acting sick otherwise. What he's doing is making other people sick when they have to change his diapers. Good LORD, that's some nasty stuff! If they could mass-produce it, it would be the ultimate biological weapon. I don't know what this child ate to bring the wrath of the gods of indigestion down upon our heads (not literally, thank God!), but I hope he never finds it again.

Along with this (and definitely related), he's got a wicked diaper rash. Actually, it's a butt-rash- his diapers seem perfectly comfortable and rash-free. Every time I change Ike's diaper, Simon's standing there* going, "Oooooh- Ike's got RED on hims bum!" What started out as very localized rashiness has spread to a butt-wide redness, like his little arse is horribly embarrassed about the hazardous wate it's producing on such a regular basis.

At least he's happy- this would be a lot harder to deal with if he had a fever, etc. to deal with at the same time. Poor li'l gaffer!


*Simon is our self-appointed diaper inspector.

Poop Patrol (Waaay TMI, especially during lunch)

Simon has decided on a career and we couldn't be prouder of our little man. He's showing some promise, and has great enthusiasm for his position as Poop Inspector.

It's a surprising career choice for him- Simon still isn't showing much interest in using the potty, except for when he remembers that he gets stickers and can earn presents from his efforts. Then he hops up on the toilet, grunts, strains and farts for a few minutes, saying "Go poo potty... get car! Go poo potty... get... CAR!" Then he gives up.

Poop in DIAPERS, though- now THAT interests him. He spends a few minutes in denial each time he goes ("Simon, did you poop?" "Noooooo!"), but once he's moved on to the acceptance stage of diaper changing, he's quite interested in the process. "I make-a da Big Poopie!" he announces proudly. "I see da Big Poopie?"

And so he sees da Big Poopie. If it's not too messy, he helps flush da Big Poopie down da big toilet, and says, "bye-bye, Big Poopie!" I WILL draw the line the day he asks to "touch-a da big poopie," though.

And it's not just his own Big Poopies that are in need of inspection. No, sir! Every time Ike gts his butt changed, Simon asks, "Ike make a Big Poopie?" If the answer is no, he goes back to whatever he was doing. If yes, he scurries over and hunkers down, waiting to see what wonders await within his brother's diaper. Comments follow: "Ooooh, it's YEWWOW!" or, "Oh, Ike, dat's a big MESSY poop!" or (slightly alarmed) "What's DAT?!"*

After sufficient inspection has occurred (and a quick glance IS NOT ENOUGH), Simon nods and goes back to his irregularly scheduled programming.

It's a tough job, and the pay sucks, but Simon seems to feel that someone's gotta do it, and if he's the only one willing to take an interest in da Big Poopies, so be it. He's a godsend, that one.



*"Dat" was chunks of carrot from the previous day's soup. Why do I bother?