Bed Buddies

I climbed into bed last night, exhausted after a day of being out and about with the 2 girlies. I had already endured getting up early, taking Liberty to a baby well check appointment, going to the post office, picking up Rory from Chris's office, getting lost and then found again on the way to register Rory for gymnastics, hauling 2 kids into and out of the county courthouse to retrieve Liberty's birth certificate, a quick Target run for lunch and a leotard, a failed attempt at buying some obscure battery charging station for Chris's survival gear stash, nursing in public twice, and finally dragging home exhausted just in time for Rory to resist a nap for 2 hours.

So, yeah, I'm getting into bed more tired than I've been since forever and as I snuggle down into my sheets, I feel something lumpy under my leg. In the dark I fish around, expecting to find a pair of socks or something.

Nope. Not socks. Not an errant stuffed animal. Not even a harmless alarm clock or tv remote or any number of things I'm used to finding in my bed.

It was a diaper. A dirty, old diaper that someone who shall remain nameless (but whom I can describe as being 28 years old, balding, and the father of my children) had left on my side of the bed. Thanks, hon.


Who was it that told me breastfed babies don't have smelly diapers? They obviously have never let one marinate in their bed for 24 hours.