We’ve just finished dinner. From where I stand in the bathroom, changing Ben’s diaper (he’s pooped twice in ten minutes), I can see Luke sitting in his high chair and Jane clearing the table.
She sniffs the air, wrinkles her nose, and says with disgust, “Luke stinks like a hippopotamus!”
Doug unbuckles Luke and picks him up out of his chair. “Hey Jack,” he says, “wanna sniff?” He shoves Luke’s bum toward Jack’s face. Jack shrieks and starts running out of the room, out of the house. Doug chases him, still holding Luke bum side out. I can hear Jack running around the house, screaming with delight, and Doug’s loud “roaaaaaaar” as he runs after him with the stinky poopy baby.
Jane calls from the bedroom, where she’s trying to put on her shoes, “Can I smell him? Let me smell him! I want to smell him, too!” Shoes on, she takes off after Doug and Jack.
I look down at Ben on the changing pad. He grins big and jerks his arms up and down. I wipe his bum with a wet washrag and shake my head. “It’s all about the poop around here, isn’t it, Ben?”
Jane’s voice floats through the open window. “Can I smell Luke, Dada?” Then a roar from Doug and a squeal from Jane and the sound of feet running down the driveway.
What can I say? We’ve been on the road for 19 days. We’re a little stir-crazy.
Or maybe we’re just plain crazy. I mean, really, what sane person chases his children around with a poopy baby bum side out? When I mention this to Doug, he says, “What else would I have done? You’ve got to point the business end of the weapon, baby.”
Right. What was I thinking?
