One for Slag to not read during breakfast

We have a playpen set up in the family room, which we refer to as “The Cage”: it’s a big rectangle, long enough for me to like down in, with rails tall enough that the boys can’t get out. It’s directly on the floor, with a comforter over some floor padding.

My usual routine for the past month or so has been for me to stay up ‘til midnight, or 2am, or worse, working on my Dissertation. The next morning, the boys wake us up around 6am; The Lady feeds the first one while I jiggle the other one; then I hand the second one over, and take the first out to The Cage. A few minutes later, The Lady carries the second one out to me, and I doze for another hour or two, until it’s time to get up. Meanwhile, the boys either play in the controlled, safe environment (with a few random toys to keep 'em happy), or else sleep.


This morning, though, while lying in The Cage, I partially woke up – I think by Boy #2 crawling across my arm. I picked up Boy #2 – and discovered that his thighs were **covered** in poop! My glasses were back in the bedroom, so I couldn’t really see the details, but...


Picked up Boy #1 and placed him on the floor outside The Cage; then carried Boy #2 to The Lady, who was already in the shower. She scraped him off and cleaned him up, and then I traded babies, as Boy #2 had crawled through it a bit while inside The Cage.

Then I took a shower, myself: the boys must have been climbing over me, as I had poop dried onto my right outside calf, and my right forearm. Also had some on my sleeping shorts, and my t-shirt.


Had to soak everyone’s clothes in disinfectant the laundry room sink, and soak the comforter in a gardening bin outside (too big for the sink, once the clothes were in there).


My most blog-worthy experience for the last few months...


--GG