Last night, John and Lily came home from the store and Lily had apparently picked out two new pairs of pajama pants for me. You may not know this, but I’m a sucker for some good pajama pants. Maybe that’s because 5 out of 7 days a week that’s all I wear. So this was a big deal to her. Needless to say, she was excited to give them to me.
A little while later, I was sitting on the couch with Owen, watching her play when she came over to me, looked me up and down, looked at my legs, lifted them off the couch and says to me: “You pee on the couch? Yeah? You need some new pants? Yeah?” with the utmost concern on her face.
After double checking (surely I couldn't have missed that), I said “no, mommy didn’t pee on the couch.”. and she went on about her business. She came back a few minutes later, did the same thing and said with that same amount of concern: “mommy, you pants are wet. We need to change them. Come.” Yes, that’s really how she talks.
I realized she just really wanted me to be wearing my new pajama pants. And here I was, six o’ clock at night and still in jeans like a chump. So I obliged. She took me to my room, grabbed my new pants and ordered me to lay down so she could change my pants. I decided to just put them on and pretend like she was helping. She told me good job. I was strangely proud of myself.
You’d think that would be the end of the story. But remember, there were two pairs of pajama pants gifted that day. So sure enough, after dinner when we went downstairs, Lily decided to announce to the room that I had pooped my pants and needed new ones. It took an unreasonable amount of argument to convince her that I had not, in fact, pooped my pants and maybe she should to check on her baby doll. Apparently her baby doll had indeed pooped her pants and got three consecutive diaper changes.
Oh my child. So maternal, that one.