"It has a... MERMAID." Rosie was excited to show me her special diaper when I arrived. Then she wanted to be picked up.
"Ina hold you..." she said, lifting her chubby little arms up in the air. It feels nice to be wanted, so of course I obliged. Rosie giggled.
"I want the lollipop song. My Boy Lollipop," she demanded, careful to enunciate every word. Rosie is 2, but she's as big as a 3-year-old or even a lactose-intolerant 4-year-old, and she's very concerned about diction. She has an enviable froggy voice, too (no calling up boys as soon as she comes down with bronchitis when she's older, she can do that any time). This, combined with her striking features and homemade silk dresses, give her the look of a miniature starlet from the Talkies.
"OK," I said,"Get ready!" I swung her over to one hip, and when I looked down, noticed that both my top and jeans were soaked with pee.
"Whoops!" I said, "Looks like we have to change your diaper, first." Rosie's family is moving into her Nana's house to take care of her after she fell and broke her hip over Christmas, so the usual supplies were scattered between the old house and the top floor of Nana's old, lightly haunted Victorian. I plopped Rosie down on a pile of blankets and changed her into another Little Mermaid Pull-Up until we got to the new house.
Then I sang the Lollipop Song. Twelve times. We did the Lollipop Dance. We made some faces. We looked for and successfully located her bellybutton. I swung her upside down in front of a mirror. Next we went for a walk outside with a creepy wooden Pinocchio head magnet to test what it would stick to, cracking her up until it was time for a nap back at Nana's house. Rosie pulled books out of her bookshelf as I searched high and low for a real diaper. Finally, a call to her mama revealed that they were in a trick hidden drawer (also haunted) in the bathroom. By the time I got back to Rosie, she was giggling again.
"I have a poopy diaper!" she exclaimed. I sighed. I reached over to pick her up and found that rather than a poopy diaper, she had an entire outfit, including tights, soaked with pee. I had to wipe her down with a towel and then detail the "problem areas" with baby wipes.
"Don't... wipe... my toes, please." She said carefully. "Mama painted them RED."
"Don't worry, Rosie," I said. "Unless you've gotten into Papa's anti-freeze, I don't think urine takes off nail polish." From now on, we are going with the bland, brown organic Tushies. They aren't much to look at, but they keep pee off the streets.
Doing the Lollipop Dance...Apres-Pee