Cletus is obsessed with her fellow baby. Pictures of babies, babies on tv, her baby friends at day care: all are unbelievably awesome. Each night after her bath, Cletus spends a good minute or two laughing hysterically at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, hair in clumps on top of her head. She giggles, coos, looks away, then snaps her face forward again, flirting with herself. Once last week she stood * in front of the full length bathroom mirrorin her bedroom, smiling and patting her belly with her open palms. Then she peed, the stream hitting the glass and splattering onto the floor. Her face -- first, surprise, then glee.
Which brings me to this: if you let Cletus the Former Fetus run around the house without a diaper in the hopes that it will help her nightmare of a yeast rash heal more quickly, eventually she will squat down and shit on the rug like a dog. Then, while you and your husband are busy laughing like crazy because, hey, poop is funny, she will step in it, and then one of you will have to restrain the child while the other wipes her down while simultaneously trying to keep the dog from consuming her weight in baby shit. Then you will laugh and laugh some more and realize that often the best memories are the ones that end with someone being hosed off from head to toe.
