Beware the Baby of Soggy Bottom

Sumie and I woke this morning to a rather grey and dismal day.  The fog was in and hanging low; oppressive, but not suffocating.  As I rolled back from the window to help Sumie out of bed I thought to myself, "It's going to be a damp day."  How right I was.

An hour or so later I heard low, contented babbling coming from Mimi's room.  I peeked my head in to find a mop-headed toddler smiling away.  She had woken up happy.  Thank goodness.  The night had not gone well.  Screams at midnight were reprised at 3:00am with even more piercing wails.  Both were resolved with milk.  This bought us some sleep, but it also meant that, with Mimi fully loaded, her diaper could hit critical mass before she woke in the morning.  Her smiles seemed to indicate we had escaped the danger.  Her clothes, however, did not.

I arrived at the crib rail to find a giggly child absolutely drenched from the waist down.  There were mornings when she'd been a bit soggy before, but this was something new.  Honestly, I didn't know where to begin.  Mimi had the right idea, though.  She grabbed a tissue and started wiping.  Granted, it was an area of the crib she hadn't saturated - if she had I would've have been drowned - but it was a start.

The primary challenge was getting Mimi from the crib to the bedroom, which has the changing pad, without contaminating half the house.  Grasped under the armpits, Mimi swung like a pendulum as I walked through the hall, into the bedroom, and searched frantically for the changing pad.  This presented another problem.  I couldn't set Mimi down, I couldn't hold her against my chest, and she refused to stand on her own.  How was I going to pick up the changing pad?  Some precarious balancing and a quick flick from my right foot proved sufficient to send the pad flying from the dresser to the bed.  All those years of youth soccer finally paid off. 

Cleaned and dressed, I took Mimi to the living room for breakfast where we shared leftover Dim Sum and a Woody Allen film (that's another blog post in itself).  We then set out for a spot of shopping. The Irish bakery, which has amazing pasties, was followed by the local ice cream parlor, where we picked up two pints of homemade goodness.  I absolutely love the food at the Irish bakery, but I always feel insecure ordering there.  Though I've visited England several times now, I can't remember how to properly pronounce "pasty."  Is it "past-ee," like a letter "e" from the past, or is it "paste-ee," like what people say about me when I'm at the beach?  If anyone can help, please let me know.

Having secured our provisions we headed home.  Several days ago, on a similar run, Mimi had managed to bring up half her bottle all over her sweater.  Today seemed to be going better.  She'd only been drinking water and that seemed to be staying down.  Near home, Mimi began whimpering and I looked down to see that her water bottle was empty.  Odd, I thought.  She never drinks that fast.  Well, somehow Mimi had figured out how to empty an entire spill-proof water bottle onto her left leg.  Basically, I was right back where I started this morning, only at least this time it was just water.

We returned home, where I changed Mimi and then threw her newly wet clothes, along with the soiled items I'd washed that morning, into the dryer.  Nothing has made me feel more of a "grown-up" - not getting married, having a child, or buying a home - than having an actual washer and dryer combo.  I still find it odd.  Why is my concept of adulthood tied to the acquisition of laundry apparatus?  Maybe I'm more influenced by commercials than I thought.

Stripped of her wet clothes, once again, and equipped with a new diaper, Mimi decided to kick back with a collection of articles from Top Gear's James May.  She may not know how to read, but she already has great taste in books.

Mimi is now dry and down for her nap.  I'm hoping she'll wake up dry as well.  Not that I mind changing her, but at this rate, I'm going to run out of onesies!