One sunny afternoon, my husband and I sat in the living room talking and laughing. Son #1 played outside in the backyard while Son #2 ran around the house chewing on various toys. On one of Son #2's flybys, a foul smell assaulted our noses.
My husband turned to me and said. "I think we have a poop diaper."
"Man, I don't want to change it this time. I'm so tired." I whined.
"Fine." He said grumpily. "But you have to help me."
"Alright." I said in a growly voice.
My husband took our stinky baby to his room and announced. "Change you!"
Usually, Son #2 lies down and patiently waits while we fix him up. That afternoon was not one of those times. Before my husband could get his diaper off, Son #2 rolled away and took off like a streak of lightening down the hallway. As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, we caught a glimpse of his heavily loaded diaper swaying wildly.
There was definitely plenty of junk in our baby's trunk.