Rearrange This

Are you a re-arranger?  I am.  I have always loved moving furniture around.  It's one of the few remaining free activities in this world.  Plus you get a little weight-lifting in and you're left with a fresh look and a new perspective. 

But I am done, DONE I SAY moving my son's changing table. 

Guys, it's been in 3 or 4 different locations so far, and I'm running out of ideas.  Next to the crib seemed like a good plan.  Had to be moved.  Next was by the window so it wouldn't scrape the wall.  That was a near disaster as well and the blinds still haven't recovered.  Then on to yet another spot which was not completely unlike solitary confinement or an isolation booth.   

All this moving.  There's been a lot of sweat.  Some tears.  A (possible?) fractured toe.  And here's what I've discovered.  There is not a problem with where I put the changing table.  The serious matter is the squirmball who needs a straightjacket.  I've tried singing, charades, I've tried books, and I've tried surrendering my valuables to distract him.  But you see, Mama's possessions lose their appeal the second they're handed over.  If he cannot pluck it, swipe it, or pry it from my grips, he has lost the desire to obtain it. 

I liked the new spot over next to the bookshelf.  It gave me an extra surface where I could set things down and Jackie could look up at the ABCs on the wall.  And it had been working.  Until the other morning. 

After breakfast, we were hanging out in Jackie's newly decorated office (aka our baby-proofed living room) when I smelled my next project in the works.  And my nose never fails me.  So, I picked him up and off we went to his bedroom. 

I'm fumbling through wipes and getting the fresh diaper ready to go, all while maintaining constant eye contact (critical at this stage) and keeping one hand on him at all times.  I was able to get him changed and redressed, and I even received the customary round of applause which means I did great by Jackie's standards.  

But what he did next was just plain "shitty," you could say.  While squeezing my pinkie (perhaps to deprive me of oxygen and common sense), he started donkey kicking while shrieking in his own amusement, and I watched in slow motion horror as a completely full diaper plunged from the top of the bookshelf down to the floor, releasing each poo-stained wipe along with it.  Not to mention all of the poo. 

And just like that, life keeps handing out lessons like candy bars on Halloween night.  Here's what I can tell you, though you probably already know.  Always remember to put the dirty diaper out of limb's reach of a baby whose motions are similar to that of a bottle rocket.  Or else buy a straight jacket.

Then, dismantle the changing table and reconstruct another, more useful piece of furniture. 
Like a wooden cage.

Our Easter was beautiful.  The food, the breeze, the sunshine, and most of all, just relaxing and being together as a family.  Here are some pictures from Jackson's First Easter...