January 18th, 2018
Tuesday night was filled with childlike anticipation. Pajamas were adorned inside out and tiny faces peered out window sills for signs of winter’s gift to southern children. A couple of weeks ago, I jokingly mentioned to my husband that it seemed to always snow on my father’s birthday. This January 17th, was no exception. My father passed away almost 5 years ago from brain cancer and this time of year can be hard. It has been made easier with the birth of my middle daughter, born on January 16th, who bears a striking resemblance to my dad in character and looks, not to mention her signature strawberry-blonde hair.
When we awoke at 8:00 am on Wednesday morning, the snow had just begun to fall. I laid in my bed with my “baby” and watched it, until her sisters came running in to see if anything had happened while they were sleeping. At this time the flakes became larger and you could visibly see it sticking to the tops of houses. My children squealed in delight and definitely noted more than once that Pop must have sent it for a birthday gift.
My husband had already left for work, so it was left up to me to get all the girls ready to go venture out into our wonderland. We started the process at 9:22 am. I specially made the two oldest go to the bathroom before dawning all their layers, and put a fresh diaper on my baby. When we were 90 percent dressed and ready, I smelled it… I immediately looked at my baby and asked if she had pooped. She said no and sheepishly ran away from me, which of course means yes. As I began peeling back the layers, I not only smelled it, but could see it. Explosive diarrhea. *Side note: as this is happening my oldest is standing there gagging*
