Sometimes Size Does Matter

This past weekend I found myself down for the count with a nasty case of the stomach virus. My worst symptom by leaps and bounds was complete and utter fatigue. I wasn’t my intention, but I found myself sleeping through two full days of my life.

Did I mention I have four kids under the age of eight?

Fortunately for me, my husband is an amazing guy and took 100% of the parental reins while I snoozed off the sickness. I’ll praise him all day long for doing a most fantastic job without me, taking care of the kids and making sure I was comfortable while in bed. But amidst the chaos and confusion, came a pretty nasty mishap.

And it’s only a little bit funny because it didn’t happen to me. He finds no humor in this story. But I’ll tell it anyway…

when it comes to diapers, sometimes size does matter.

OK, a bit of back story. In our house, we’re currently diapering two little boys. Baby Paul, who at 14 months old is still so teeny-tiny that he wears a standard size “2” disposable diaper. And then there’s Gage the Rage, who at over 3 years old is on the cusps (but not quite there) of being completely potty trained. At night, Gage wears a size “5” disposable diaper.


So, two boys, two different sizes of diapers. It’s not that difficult.

And here is where my husband gets a lesson in Diapering 101:

You see, he rarely changes diapers. It’s not that he’s opposed, it’s just something I’ve always done. Similarly, I don’t do bedtime or make school lunches. We each have household “things” we do daily, and changing diapers isn’t one of his. I’m OK with this.

So while I was down for the count in bed, without even realizing it, my husband put one of Gage’s humongous diapers on baby Paul. In hindsight, he’ll now admit it was a bit roomy around the thighs, but at the time didn’t stop to take notice.

And then it happened. A couple hours later, I hear a choir of commotion. My girls screaming in disgust, nervous laughter, and something to the tune of “get out of the way, turn the water in the tub on now!” type commands.

So what happened? In short, baby Paul basically told that ill-sized diaper who’s boss. All over his legs, all over the couch, and all over the living room carpet.

I’ve probably said too much already, but needless to say my poor husband learned a hard lesson when it comes to diaper sizing. That little size indicator around top of the diaper? It does actually mean something and shouldn’t be ignored.

How about you? Got any gross diaper stories to share? Go ahead, air that dirty laundry!

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