Nolan woke up way too early this morning. I don’t even really know what time it was, but I know the sun wasn’t finished rising, which means it was too darn early. He doesn’t really take no for an answer either. So, I tried my hardest to lie in bed with him, trying to use the Jedi Force to will him back to sleep trying to convince him that it was still night time, but to no avail. I gave up and we put him in his jumper next to our bed. And being the dutiful parent I am, I lied back down again hoping for a few more minutes of closed-eye time. Nick got up and started getting ready for work.

After awhile, I started to smell breakfast cooking.

“Hmm,” I thought, “Nick’s making eggs this morning.”

And after awhile I started to come a little further out of my sleep induced coma, and I realized,

“Wait, he’s not making eggs. I haven’t heard him moving around in the kitchen, and he usually reserves cooked breakfasts for the weekends. Hmmm, odd.”

And I tried to snooze some more. Meanwhile, Nolan is happily jumping away next to me. I congratulate myself on a good solution for getting extra shut-eye, but I continue to be roused out of my stupor as the smell grows stronger. Finally, it overpowers me.

“What is that SMELL?” I think, then laugh as I remember the poem of the same title my roommate wrote back in our college dorm days, when the stench of who knows what from who knows where wafted through our room. But I stopped laughing when it dawns on me. Yes, yes, I know you’ve all caught on quicker than I did, but cut me some slack – it was early.

That’s right, the smell was my happy bouncing bundle of joy. The little cherub who only fills his pants ever three or four days. But of course, when he does, you must be prepared. So, I drug myself out of bed to take care of the matter, and as I lifted him out of the jumper, a big glob of yellowish paste dripped down his leg and onto me.

“Oh lovely,” I thought, “Guess I’m doing laundry this morning.”

But there were more surprises in store for me. As I laid him on the floor to change him, the stench hit me even harder, though I had not yet opened up his diaper. And then I saw it. I looked over under the jumper, where he had been so happily playing. Apparently the paste dripping down his leg did not hit just as I pulled him out, but long before. And it appeared he had been jumping in it, spreading it all around and smashing it into the carpet for some time. Another glance at his feet and legs revealed that they, too, were covered. And because I hadn’t realized it soon enough, there were more spots on my carpet where I had set him down to change him.

So much for my brilliant sleep solution. No wonder he was having such a god time jumping this morning. What little boy wouldn’t like to jump around in his own poo?