So, on Sunday night, I'm getting booger ready for his bath. The water's all drawn, and he's been stripped down to his diaper. He's futzing around in the bedroom while I get the last of the things in order in the bathroom.
When I'm ready, I turn to him and ask him to come let me take his diaper off and put him in the tub. He smiles, reaches down, and takes his own diaper off with a few dramatic twists of the wrist. It's then that I notice that he's got a DIRTY diaper.
"Oh, wait, Clay! Wait for me!" I say, making my way quickly over to him. But not quickly enough. With one fluid motion, he steps into the contents of the dirty diaper, then turns and begins to run all through the master bedroom and into the den, laughing like a madman and leaving little brown footprints in his wake.
By this point, I'm screaming, "Brian!! Aaack! We need wipes, STAT!!" Sweet hubs shows up with wipes, and we corrall the giggling little monster, clean his feet, and throw him in the tub.
I made a desperate call to the carpet cleaners on Monday morning, begging them to get out to the house before Thanksgiving (which I am hosting this year). Thank goodness they could pencil me in for yesterday afternoon, and my carpet is clean again.