Last night before I went to bed, I checked on my son. This is nothing new. Ever since I stopped using the baby monitor with any sort of regularity, I’ve snuck in his room each night both to bask in his amazing cuteness while he sleeps, and also to make sure he’s still breathing. I’ve actually done some rather amusing dives, dashes and quick jumps after standing over his bed waiting to see him exhale, so that I can avoid him seeing me in case he wakes up.
Last night when I checked on him, he looked a little odd. It took me a second to register why. It wasn’t the position he was in that was off. It was the fact his little arms were bare, despite the fact I put him in footy pajamas. That’s when I realized he’d unzipped his pajamas, and managed to pull them half way off. I would assume this was done because he was hot. However, he’d wrapped his fleecy blanket up around his top half and was snuggled into it.
I smiled to myself, backed out of the room quietly and clamoured downstairs to report my findings to my husband. He laughed, remembering times when he too wiggled out of his jammies.
This morning when my husband went to get him out of bed, our little guy no longer had his pajamas around his waist. They weren’t even on the bed with him. Neither was his diaper. He was sitting on his bed, 100% naked, flipping through a book.
Luckily, his diaper was full, but nothing else seemed to be wet.*Still, I have a feeling this may be the start of an unsettling trend. I see days spent chasing my kid around the house trying to wrangle him back into a diaper. Or worse, out running around the backyard (and maybe the front), trying to get his pants back on after a day in the pool. And worst of all, I have a feeling this means that he’s going to learn how to dress himself too and my days of picking out and putting together cute little outfits may soon be over.
*This was particularly lucky as I had just washed his sheets and comforter yesterday–my first official household duty after surgery. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised though. Despite what movies have lead me to fear, my son has never once peed outside his diaper. We’ve never had one of those terrible fountain incidents that drenches the wall, him, me and even the cat–although when a friend of my husband’s was using our changing table one afternoon, his kid managed to drench the wall, the changing table and his father all three times his diaper was changed. According to their stories, he also managed to get the family dog on more than one ocassion.
Side note that relates to nothing, I can hear my husband reading stories to my son. I just overheard my son tell my husband that I gave him a goldfish to eat. According to the line of questioning that ensued, apparently I feed him a raw goldfish fairly regularly. What the heck goes through their little minds?