The Poop Scoop

Abe's in bed already. I had an experience with him which lasted only minutes but seemed like an eternity. I had to change his diaper. This was the third or fourth poopie diaper of the day in, what I like to call, a week of yucky, smelly, more-than-usual, diarrhea-ish diaper extravaganza. So, I had to do it. Kelly was at work and it had already seeped onto his pants. He's been so good about it lately, but I guess he'd had it, too, cause he wasn't going down without a fight. I tried everything. I asked, begged and pleaded. I squeezed out a few tears trying to guilt him into it like a good mother should. I got upset, sad, and I even tried to use common sense with him. I tried bribery, threats, yelling and understanding. Nothing worked and so then I had to resort to force. I had to lay him down on the ground, sit over him (not on him) and use my legs to hold down his arms and keep his upper half still. So I'm facing his feet and he's soooooo mad and I yank off his stinky pants. Then I get serious and like a drill sergeant I command, "Abraham! Are you going to be a good boy and be still!?!?" There was no "yes, mam" like I wanted, but after tears, tears and more tears, he finally relinquished and I was able to assume diaper changing position. Of course, the best was yet to come when his hand reached right around to grap his bum that was not completely cleaned yet and after I gasp and beg him not to touch anything (my hands, of course, were occupied holding his legs with one and wiping with the other), he used said hand to cover his face to try to block out the tramatic goings-on. Why, WHY do they always do that? The whole experience was completely exhausting and put me out of commission for the rest of the night. Whoever said parenting isn't work never had to change an angry toddler's diaper.