Parenting is not for the timid as I discovered while visiting my parents and sister in Montana. My sister and mother were looking to do a little shopping, but didn’t want to risk taking my niece and ruining her birthday surprise.

Are you ok watching Mya for a couple of hours while we go shopping? My sister asked.

“No problem”

“Are you sure?”

Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. She’s a 2-year old little girl. I was in Desert Storm, I’ve jumped out of airplanes, I have degrees in civil and electrical engineering. I think I can handle watching a 2-year old for a couple of hours.

Instead I say, “Go, have fun. We’ll be fine.”

What they didn’t realize is that I had plan. Picking up my adorable pixie of a niece we bid mom and grandma goodbye and walked back down stairs.

“What we gonna do unca Wussy?”

“Wesley. . . .it’s uncle Weeeessssllley”

“Uh huh, unca Wussy!”

Sigh. . .

“How about if we watch Snow White?”

“Yes, please!”

I’m impressed. My sister is raising a very polite little girl.
I set her down and while commencing to prepare the film she fidgets with some pillows and a blanket. She changes positions about 5 times in the duration it takes to get the movie started. Then the most amazing thing happens. As the film begins she is overcome with temporary paralysis. The TV has reached out and electronically snatched her brain right out of her little noggin. Ha, my plan is working!

Still congratulating myself, I go into the adjoining room and begin to analyze my portfolio. This continued for approximately 10 minutes when I was suddenly and brutally knocked from my chair by the foulest stench I’ve smelled since the July I forgot left over calamari in my truck.

Lurching into the living room, fully expecting to find the missing weapons of mass destruction, I find only my niece who seems unaffected. The television must have paralyzed her nostrils too.

“Mya.”

“. . . . .”

“Mya, is that you?”

“. . . . .”

“MYA! Did you mess your britches?”

Never looking away from the TV, she shakes her head no.

Hmm, I sense subterfuge, “Are you lying to me?”

She nods her head yes.

Ok, there’s no need to panic. I helped 30 years ago when my sister was a baby, I can do it now. First I need to find the clean diapers. I look in her room, both bathrooms, her mom’s bedroom, even the kitchen. No diapers.

She’s a smart kid; I bet she knows where they are. Going back downstairs I ask her where her diapers are kept.

“. . . .”

“MYA! Do you know where your diapers are!?”

“. . . . “

Now standing in front of the TV I repeat my question, “Mya! I need you to show me where mama keeps your diapers.”

“Mooooove unca Wussy, I can’t see!”

Quickly running out of patience I shut off the movie, “Can you show uncle Wussy. . .grrr, Wesley where your diapers are?”

Standing up with a petulant look on her face she takes my hand and leads toward the computer room. All right, now we’re getting somewhere! She leads me through the door to the middle of the room, stops, holds up both hands and says, “You stay here ok?” Promptly turning around she closes the door and a few seconds later I hear the TV start again.
I’ve just been outsmarted by a toddler.

After going through the procedure a couple more times, she finally shows agrees to show me the diaper bin located in the garage. Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Grabbing a couple of diapers and the box of handy wipes we head back downstairs.

As we remove her little shoes and pink jogging pants I realize that cloth diapers and pins are no longer baby chic. Laying her down on a towel from the linen closet I examine this contraption currently strapped around her little body.

Hmm, no pins to release the sides. Maybe they’re Velcro. Nope they’re little pieces of very sticky tape. I know, maybe they work just like underwear and you just pull them off. So, raising her chubby legs I remove the offending diaper. This was a very bad idea.
The poo dropped unceremoniously out of the diaper right onto my niece, where she promptly put her hands in it and stated emphatically, “EWWW!” I had to agree.

One box of tidy wipes, two towels, and a dress shirt later she was all cleaned up and sporting a shiny new diaper. Having swore her to silence about my ineptitude, I had just finished cleaning up all of the evidence when her mother and grandma returned.

“How did it go?” asked my sister.

“No problems.”

“Mya, how did uncle Wesley do?”

Standing up and modeling her diaper, she rats me out, “Not vewy good.”

I’d put the diaper on backwards.