So my medium-sized Little (who is about to turn 1) came into daycare this morning wearing the cutest little pink jeans you could ever imagine. I was totally in love with everything about them. Until I had to change her diaper.
I get the Little lying down and I go to tug the jeans from her butt. Little goes flying, jeans are still in place. Well, shit. Figuratively and literally.
So I wrangle the Little back on to the diaper mat and prepare for an amphibious assault. I begin tugging the jeans down with one hand while tugging the Little up with the other. It was quite a feat but we managed to slip the jeans down to her thighs. And it did not get any better from there.
I now have to slide my chubby fingers into the pant leg between her chubby Little ankles and this impressively tight jean material that has absolutely no stretch in them like the adult version does! Needless to say, as I tried to tug on the jeans the Little spent some time hanging upside down.
I finally get the jeans off and I have to take a moment to recuperate from the ordeal. The Little is winded and decides to kick her legs as fast as she can to get her blood flowing in her legs again. And then it hits me in the face; how the fuck am I going to get these jeans back on the Little?!?! I decide to let that worry hang as I change her diaper.
The Little has blood flow back into her legs and just when she thinks she is free, I pick up the jeans and smirk at her. This is going to be like wrestling a baby hippopotamus. I manage to get one foot in and immediately the material is stuck on her calf. Not to worry, we’ll just move along to foot number two. And there you go, we’re stuck on the calf again.
I am fighting the material to shimmy up her legs and the Little is making the worst faces in the world. One said “Ow, that’s my ankle chub, be careful.” This was swiftly followed by “Mother of God, my fat has feelings, Ms. Heather.”
At this point I am visibly sweating and the Little is bucking like a maniac trying to free herself of the shackles that her jeans have become. I decide to stand the Little up and just tug until we die. So here we are face to face and as I slowly and painfully tug the material up, inch by fucking inch, the Little’s face is just going to town. Some of the best ones conveyed:
“Knees, just tug to the left, dammit!”
“Ow, ow, just….there, we’re past the knee.”
“Oh fuck, I’ve got two knees.”
“Holy mother of god, my thigh fat is bulging.”
“Push that bulge in, we should have this.”
“Well shit, where did that bulge come from?!?!”
“I knew I should have done some damn crunches last night.”
My ass cheek hurts so bad…no more Twinkies, EVER.”
“THEY ARE UP MOTHER FUCKER!!!!”
“[BEEP], [BEEP], [BEEP], THE [BEEPING] BUTTON!!!!!”
(Jeez, this kid’s got a foul fucking mouth…)
So I try to button the jeans and I get smacked flat in the face. The Little’s facial expressions once again convey it all. “What the FUCK, Ms. Heather?!! You are pinching the shit out of my belly!” Well then, guess I earned that smack.
My apologies Little.
I lie the Little down and tell her to suck it in as I button and zipper her. As she sits up to scamper away, her belly bulges over the jeans and I realize it’s one diaper change down- 4 more to go.
Fuck it all.
*This was written with permission from the Little’s mommy and in no way did cursing happen by, at, or within hearing of any Littles. I did all that in the bathroom.
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