Clever Baby!

Watching your child learn new things is one of the most amazing and best parts of parenting. Henry has developed a clapping fetish. He sometimes claps spontaneously, and other times joins in when others clap, even when he hears characters clapping on a TV show in the other room. Those chubby hands clumsily slapping together, coupled with the grin of pride and satisfaction he wears are enough to make your heart melt. It is seriously, so, so cute (just ask his Meema--she'll back me up)!

Henry is also on the verge of mastering skills that I dread him knowing. Like, the ability to open doors. He. is. so. close. Remember how terrifying it was in "Jurassic Park" when the velociraptors learned how to open the doors? Okay, now double that feeling. That is my terror level. But it gets worse: we have entered the pants stage.

I believe all seasoned parents are familiar with the pants stage, but in case you aren't this sums it up. The Pants Stage: the time when a toddler learns how to remove his or her own diaper, making it absolutely vital that they wear pants over their diaper at all times.

Now, I am not one to share gory details about the messy aspects of parenting. You know, anything that belongs in a diaper, or that should have stayed in a stomach. The gross stuff. So, let me just explain that sometimes a diaper change is much more like an exorcism than a diaper change. Seriously. That unholy stench reaches your nose, and you have to fight the urge to pray to the imaginary diaper gods, begging them to contain that bio hazardous mess. I mean really, you want to take back all of the wishes earned from shooting stars and tunnels that you spent on stupid things, and apply them all to the integrity of that padded protection from unplanned baths and outfit changes.

We have experienced a lot of exorcisms diaper changes like that this week (maybe it's from teething?). Among other conclusions, I have become very grateful for diapers. So imagine my horror when I heard the tell-tale sounds of diaper wings separating, and saw my sons diaper thud to the ground. He giggled, and took off, naked as the day he was born. I panicked, and frantically ran after him with the now compromised diaper, trying to place it back on him while he was still wiggling away from me, and laughing hysterically (him, not me).

So, we are officially in the pants stage. Pants all the time, every time. For life. There's nothing I can do to turn back the clock, so my new strategy is to encourage Henry's clapping habit so that those little hands are too busy to open doors any time soon.

Nevermore!