See my happy boy? He's always that cheery, that sweet, that clean. He's angelic, really. I mean, he never does any of the following things, and definitely not all in the span of one endless Friday. He certainly doesn't invent a trick where he waits until he's laid down for a nap to poop, forcing me to return to his room for a change, despite the "no returning to the baby's room until naptime is over" rule. He'd never repeat that trick during his next nap, this time adding a giggle when he sees me enter the room. Then he would never kick his feet all over the place during the diaper change until his left foot lands squarely into the messy diaper I thought I'd set far out of his reach, then jerk that foot out of my hand and to the side, placing a big smear of you-know-what on the wall. He does not go on to fight both naps so fiercely that it takes 90 minutes to lull him into a nap that ends far before it should, and end up so overtired that he turns into a grizzly bear of a child by 4pm, one who reacts to his mom's attempt to read him a book by punching her square in the left eyeball (probably not intentional, but still) and acts like his exersaucer is a torture chamber when set inside so his mom could so something crazily self indulgent (a 60 second bathroom break). He definitely never spits up bright orange butternut squash all down the front of his shirt just as we run into the store to pick up some Tylenol to fight the (tiny) fever he's got. And at the checkout line, my son would never dream of grunting and straining with all his might so boisterously that everyone in check out lines 1-20 is well aware there's a pooping baby in the house. And I'd never be "that mom"- the one who still thinks he's the cutest little bug in the place, bright red grunty face and stinky butt and barf smeared shirt and all.
Not my boy. He's perfect. See?