My Nightly Battle

No, it isn't the urge to snack the night away.  Or even to stay up past 10.

The absolute, hands down, worst thing I have to do every night is put Little E into his diaper and jammies.

It sends me inches from the edge.

Oy, the screaming.

Oy, the wiggling.

Oy, the twisting.

Oy, the batting.

From his piercing screams, you'd think I was dipping him in acid.  Which I'm not.  I'm trying to put him in warm, fuzzy pajamas and a clean diaper.

I say yes, please, to both.

Why is this such an excruciating process for him?  And, in turn, for me?

Half the nights he ends up with both legs in the same pajama hole.  He then resembles a really angry mermaid. Almost laughable, if I wasn't being bludgeoned to death by my baby.

If I owned a pair of these, I'd be this excited, too.  


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