Oh, this day, this day. Heath woke up with a fever again this morning. Cough, stuffy nose and the mood of a disturbed hornet. No school. Again.
Mark and I seem to be only able to produce strong-willed children, and Stella is really tapping into that trait. She wants to go where she wants to go. Do what she wants to do. And all when she wants to do it. Changing her diaper is nothing short of a nightmare right now. It's not a matter of wiggling. She thrashes. She flails. She screams. She puts her hands where you just don't want them to go. It's messy. It's loud. And the more I try to distract her with singing, books, toys, blankets, goofy facial expressions and noises, the angrier she becomes. Lately I take care of this by attacking vertically, and change her while she's standing up and busily playing with something. But, you can't always take care of everything properly by doing it this way.
I tried to explain the situation to her today. If you would settle down, this would take half the time, Stella.
She kicked her pink socked foot into her dirty diaper and knocked it to the floor, then used an already soiled hand to grab the wipes and throw those down, too.
Later I found her in their bathroom, sitting on the little Elmo potty, fully clothed and reading Richard Scarry's Cars and Trucks from A to Z.
I see you on the potty. That's a good way to rid yourself of that pesky diaper-changing thing I torture you with, I said.
Yeah, yeah, she answered. I think I detected a note of sarcasm.
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