My first born grandson is just a bit over two. You’d think his early months would be fresh in my memory. Yeah, you would be wrong.
Rule Number One: When picking up a 6 week old baby, never, ever forget the burp cloth.
Yes, I forgot that one. I picked the little man up and patted his tiny back because clearly he was suffering from a little gas. He promptly burped. And spit up on me.
Rule Number Two: When changing a little baby boy’s diaper, never leave his private parts uncovered. It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what happened with that one. Luckily, my just changed shirt was missed.
And those claims about baby poop not smelling? Not so much.
It also turns out that I am completely overwhelmed with attempting to care for two children at once. That was a bit of a shock to me. It’s not like this is entirely new territory to me. Mine are three years apart. This isn’t a new experience. Yet, it seems practically impossible to manage. I guess those thirty years in between are the difference. Ah, to be young again…
That evening, after a day of dodging baby fluids, the big payoff came. My daughter was holding the baby and the two year old says, “He’s looking at me! He’s so cute.”
I said to him in response, “Do you know who else is cute?”