Easter Eggs & the Diaper They Hid In

Zane likes to be up about an hour before God (insert god of your choice). He is a morning person, full of spunk and the energy of a dozen mall-walkers. He doesn’t need coffee, but he enjoys it. It’s a fun place to put random coins and various small items that tend to scare the hell out of the cup’s owner- namely me. If The Disney Channel ran episodes of Punk’d, he would be the Ashton. I would be the idiot.

This morning we enjoyed our daily ritual of him waking me up and me cursing life, then we sat on the couch and played a game I like to call Constructing Daddy. It’s a game of motor skill enhancement and problem solving, in which every item he can lift is brought to me and stacked upon my body while I lay comatose under a single beam of sunlight and wonder how Brad Pitt does it.

But the morning isn’t all Legos on my head and cans of soup to the crotch. We do other things too. For instance, Zane wants to kiss now. Sugars we call them. He has yet to master anything other than placing his extremely wet lips against mine and rubbing them back and forth, but it works for me.

Sometime around 6:30 this morning, after a rousing game of Constructing Daddy he placed himself on my littered body. I figured it was time to make-out, but what he had in mind was even better, a quick little snuggle and a return to Nite Nite Town. Thank you God of your choice I thought.

Then something different happened. Imagine if you will, if every lunch lady in the California public school system took every hairnet they have ever owned and set out to find every forgotten Easter egg from every park, yard and living room in the Golden State. Then they made those dye-soaked balls of sulfur into more egg salad than they could every serve, so they let it sit in the sun for two weeks, waited until Zane and I were asleep on the couch and quietly snuck in and wiped 3 pounds of it on my shirt.

Then they threw a few scoops all over Zane’s back to shift the blame.

Freakin’ lunch ladies.

Well, that’s what happened, except for the part about owning hairnets, I believe those are loaned out per shift. Sweet little Zane dropped his body weight in egg salad, seriously, that’s what it looked, and unfortunately smelled, like. It was everywhere. Daddy was fully constructed, and the development was pure crap.

Luckily there was newspaper handy and I lay him upon it to change his diaper. It was useless. I entertained the thought that I could get by with a baby wipe rub down, but we were overwhelmed. Surrounded. There was crap all over his legs and back, all over me and all over the couch. He had really outdone himself. When I saw it in his hair I had no choice but to say “fuck it” and take ourselves a nice warm shower.

Needless to say I won’t be eating egg salad anytime soon, unless that’s the special in the cafeteria today. On a positive note, the couch is now cleaner than it’s been since the day we bought it. Also, when you start your morning being shit on it’s hard to go anywhere else but up, so I’ve got that going for me.

How the hell does Brad Pitt do it?

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