NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH
My daughter, my very own flesh and blood, shat all over the place when I was trying to change her diaper. Her already very dirty diaper. Today was the first day Jeff and I had the girls wear those little footy pajama things that actually belong to us. Up until now, they've been wearing hospital garb. Which, incidentally, is much nicer than the gown they put me in. Well, we learned our lesson. Back to the hospital provided clothing. I pulled Lucy's diaper off, cleaned her adorable little bum, and then watched, dumbfounded, as mustard yellow poo started flowing, almost geisering, out of her little bumhole (like how I cleaned that up for the grandmas?) and all over her new, freshly laundered footy pajama thing.
You would think that Jeff would have learned from my mistake, but you would be wrong. After we finally got Lucy cleaned up (yes, it took both of us), and I was almost finished feeding her, Jeff started getting Jane ready. This involved a diaper change. A diaper change that turned out JUST LIKE LUCY's. Got that diaper off and poo started pouring out. Lesson learned: this twin bond that our daughters have apparently extends to their pooping habits.