Boy Terror still does not sleep through the night. I keep telling him that at 22 months, it's about freakin' time, but he doesn't care. It's 4 AM!!! Time to call Mummy, see what she's up to!!! I figured he might be waking because he's wet. Being a boy and all, he has strong feelings about swaddling his precious parts in cold, pee filled diapers. So, I decided to sneak in and change him whenever I wake up for my own pee break. The first few nights it was great. I didn't even lift him out of the crib, just leaned in, undid his jammies, and changed the diaper. He never moved. Then he got wise to me.
On Thursday night, as I was performing the switch, I stopped to admire his soft, warm belly and toes. The boy is huggable. He is absolutely delicious. As I smiled down at my angel, stroking his fat little knees, he smiled. And let loose a fountain, right up at my face. Naturally, I did what anyone would do when hit in the face with a stream of pee. I stuck my hand over the source like an umbrella. The effect was not unlike shoving your thumb over a garden house. Not only did his belly get wet, he also sprayed his jammies, the blankets, and the sheets. All good feelings gone, replaced with wet, pee-scented laundry.
On Friday night, I felt wiser and better prepared. I had the fresh diaper opened, ready to slid under his butt with great speed, in order to avoid the whole pee-in-the-face thing. I gently unsnapped his jammies, and started to slide the first chubby leg out. Ha! Boy Terror was half awake and had some thoughts about being naked at 4 AM!! He didn't agree! He grabbed the sides of his jammies and tried to shove it all back together, all the while screaming "MAMMIES!! MAMMIES!!!" which translates into "JAMMIES!! JAMMIES!" After I finally got the left leg out of the damn one-piece mammies, I started working on the right leg. Faster than a greased pig, he rammed his left leg back into the mammies. I abandoned the right limb and went back to strip the first one. We kept going back and forth like that for awhile, legs in and out, out and in, screams of "mammies!!" echoing through the night.
When finally I had his lower body free of clothing, I figured I better do the diaper switch quick. Off came the wet one, and on....nope. Boy Terror flung himself over, screaming for his mammies, and stuck his now naked bum into the cold air. I gave up on the sweet, soothing tones appropriate for the wee hours of the morning, and started sounding a bit harsher. "Git over here, you little rotter...Lay down! No! No mammies for you! First diaper goes on. Be still!" Every time I flipped him onto his back and tried to shove the Pamper under him, he performed a series of very energetic aerobics and ended up on his stomach, with his knees pulled up under him, butt to the air. Still screaming for the mammies. Still half nude.
By the time I finally had him wrapped, the fountain safely contained, and the mammies back in place, we were both exhausted. He slept easily another 2 hours before waking up to bellow "Mummy!!! Where're you??!!!" As if we were best of friends.