Lately, changing Sarah's diaper is a major struggle. She wants to reach back with her left arm, pull herself over from the upper corner of the changing pad, stick her butt in the air, regroup, then sit up entirely for better positioning for things like eating the diaper cream. Trying to get her to lie peacefully on her back long enough to get her diaper changed (and pants back on) elicits torrents of tears, flailing limbs and screams so horrible the neighbors are doubtless calling social services.
I have to hold her down like a crack-crazed suspect resisting arrest. Every. Single. Time. It takes forever. Clothing typically has to be forcibly applied multiple times because things end up backwards in the tussle. The tears! The snot! The baby's first word is going to be "dammit!" Here she is after tonight's pre-bedtime round.
Oh yeah, and bedtime. Sarah hasn't slept in 3 nights. Subsequently, neither have we. I adore this kid, but my love for her doesn't make parenting any less a pain in the butt. Jeremiah's so exhausted and shaky from the diaper changes he's downstairs listening to the Violent Femmes and drinking. How did my mom do this with 5 of us?!? Frankly I'm surprised Dave's not an only child.