MJJC continues to be amazing. Every day he gets more inspired or inspiring--Saturday he picked up this little stuffed elephant (one of those dangling toys that can go on the stroller bar or the play gym) and actually manipulated it with his hands. He even seemed to be trying to work out in his head how to turn it around and get the plastic ring in his mouth. Definite jump in his understanding. It was SO COOL to watch.
In funny parent news--so, I took him to a street fair in and around Peace Park on Sunday. I got the stroller pimped out with all the stuff I might want or need, then grabbd the Baby Bjorn because I know he prefers to ride attached to me and the Bjorn lets him see the world facing out from my chest. Happy baby, happy mommy. He did great. I breastfed in public (granted, this is a much more comfortable crowd) and we had a fine time.
Then it happened. It was late and I ducked back into the park to hear some live music. I'm standing there swaying and listening and I feel something. Miles is happily in the Bjorn taking in the sights and sounds. Then I realize my shirt feels wet. No biggie. He's peed on me in public before. Then I look down. All I'm saying is "Catastrophic Diaper Failure". I won't regale you with all the gory details, but, suffice it to say, he must've eliminated at least half his body weight.
So, Prepared Mommy Goddess that I am, I whip out the blanket and the changing pad, the extra clothes, diaper and diaper wipes. He manages to get poopy all over him in the ensuing dance that occurs. Just as I use the last of the wipes, he sprays a little pee gyser all over the blanket. I had to laugh out loud. I managed to get him dry, into a clean diaper and clothes; then I wrapped all the offending stuff--carrier, pad, blanket, diaper, towels, clothes--and tucked it in the bottom of the stroller. I managed to clean myself up to the point that it wasn't clear just what he announted me with--just that I had been annointed.
Note to self: more wipes and towel things in stroller and travel bag; put a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt in the car for future catastrophic diaper failures.
