Stinky Diaper

I feel like we’ve established that my youngest, Huck, is a douche bag. For the longest time he preferred his mother, and was not my biggest fan. I think this can mostly be written up as being a mama’s boy, as opposed to an actual dislike of me.

There was also familiarity. When I put Tom down for bed, my wife put Huck down. When I brushed Tom’s teeth, my wife was brushing Huck’s. It was the worst part of a your son my son situation, and I for one, wasn’t the biggest fan.

Sure, I liked how great Tom and I were getting along, but I have two sons, I want to be equally close to both of them. I brought this up to my wife, she fully agreed. In an effort to combat this, we actively tried to get our sons to switch up the nighttime routine. We didn’t try to force it, but instead gradually suggested the idea. Eventually Tom, like it was his idea, asked for his mom to put him to bed, so I got some time with Huck.

“This is going perfect,” I thought.

I put Tuck down to change him. Clothes removal and diaper change go off without a hitch. I’m putting his pajamas on him, when:

“You a pooeydiaer”

“What did you say to me?”

“You steenk. You a poopy diaper.”

I feel such love.