I'd love to tell you about our lovely weekend but I'm kinda past it now. Suffice it to say that there was some very nice times with my sweet boys.
Today, something else entirely is on my mind and unfortunately for you, I am going to tell you what it is: one baby cannot possibly produce this much poo.
We must somehow have someone else's allotment. Someone, somewhere, has invented a method to re-route the contents of their baby's dirty diapers into my baby's diaper (or rather, OUT of my baby's diaper). That person will soon be a zillionaire while I and all the other victims are up to our elbows in mess and wipes, attempting to disinfect while more is busily arriving from the culprits' diapers. It's diabolical, I tell you.
It has to be a plot, I'm sure of it. It has nothing to do with the vast quantities my child consumes and everything to do with the conspiracy against me, which today included a nursery helper putting a size too small diaper on the boy. I didn't know it, but while I was making an emergency stop at the store to stock up on size 4, he was wearing a size 2.
I've already dealt with the clothes and furniture, but I'd better go work on the carpet. Enjoy your giant piles of money, evil diaper-rerouter-inventor.
(Yes, that's a rib he's chewing on.)