Actually, it's past bedtime, because the late afternoon part of my day somehow got sucked in to a quantum whatchamaho, and I can't winkle it out with a straightened hanger.
Sawyer is half-naked, and not the cute half, on his bedroom floor. There is poop everywhere, and where there is no poop, there is diaper cream. I'm trying desperatly to affix the 'velcro' tabs on his diaper, and he is NOT COOPERATING. He has both feet propped on my leg, and is doing reverse push ups, or whatever you call it when a two year old is driving his bony little heels in to your thigh, and squirming his rear around, trying to evade a diaper.
He is also yelling:
"Mom. Moom. MOM. MOMMM. Momomomomom. Mom. HI mOM!" at the top of his lungs, in singsong.
"Sawyer." I say reasonably. "I'm RIGHT HERE. You are TOUCHING me. Your head is a foot away. You don't have to YELL MY NAME!"
"MOM! Momomomom. Mom? mom. Mom!" Said Sawyer, performing a twist that will leave a bruise on my leg tomorrow.
Tris walked by just then. He stood in the doorway and listened to our exchange, then came in. Carefully, he positioned his feet next to his brothers head, about a foot from me. Sawyer looked up at his big brother in awe, then promptly became distracted as I fastened one closure on his diaper. He redoubled his efforts to avoid the next, and his singsong began again.
"MOM!Mamama!MOM! momomom. mom. MOM!" he yelled, gleefully.
This time, big brother joined in. Without moving his feet, he leaned in, until his mouth was a foot from my face.
"Mom! MOMOMOM!" Tris cried. "Mamama! Mama! Mom! Mommy!"
Sawyer was stunned in to silence by the solidarity. I closed the diaper and applied jammy pants in record time.
"Thanks, Tris!" I said, as I sat the contemplative toddler on my lap.
"Potty training, Mom, it's a thing. Look in to it." he replied, and wandered off.