In my church, the first Sunday of every month is set aside for fasting and testimonies. As many as are able abstain from food for two meals and donate the money they would have spent on food. Then in our church meetings, everyone has the opportunity to share their testimony to everyone else, a declaration of what they know to be true (in the gospel), and experiences that have backed up that knowledge.
I rarely share my testimony. It's not that I don't have one (I very much know the teachings of my church to be true - to find out more, go here), I just don't often like to speak off the cuff in front of a large group of people.
But this past Sunday, somebody (name starts with J and rhymes with "stack") forced my hand.
My little boy is a wee bit attached to me, so when I stepped out of the chapel to feed Poppy Jane, he had a bit of a meltdown (the microphone to the chapel is piped into the nursing lounge, so I could hear him). Eventually Lewis took him out into the foyer to calm down, and when Poppy was done eating, I was able to sneak back into the chapel without Jack noticing.
As I was sitting there, enjoying the testimony of a lovely woman who recently adopted a young almost-toddler, I noticed the top of a small head of blond hair skimming the edge of the stand wall, between the podium and where the people waiting to share their testimonies sit. Huh, I thought. I didn't think this woman's new son could walk yet. Nor did I think he had hair that long and so similar to Jack - nope, that is Jack. What the what?
|The hair in question.|
I passed Poppy off to my neighbor sitting in front of us and made my way to the stand, snatching Jack. At this point it would've been more embarrassing to go back to my seat, so we stayed up there so I could share my testimony after all.
In the meantime, Lewis appeared in the open doorway next to the stand. Apparently he had let Jacko go play on the chairs by that door while he talked to some friends, not knowing that the door was open (it's usually shut), and Jack - who has been trying to get up on the stand for months - saw an opportunity and did not waste it.
With the exception of his over-attachment to me recently (even more than usual), Jackaroni has been remarkably delightful. He's had fewer meltdowns and more laughter. Fewer tantrums and more joy. It's been wonderful.
Except last night he turned into an unholy terror. A demon straight from Mount Doom. I thought I might die, or at the very least have my ears explode from all the screaming.
I had just gotten back from the chiropractor (I'm receiving treatment for a vertebral subluxation - go ahead and pity me, I won't mind) to find my brother, my husband, and my two kids hanging out in the living room. One sniff near Jack told me he was in need of a fresh diaper. I changed him and then set to work ordering our Pass of all Passes (if you know what that is and want a killer deal on it, go here and order one quick - the sale ends tonight) (then come swimming with us). This required quite a bit of effort, and Jack was not making it easy by insisting on joining his sister in my lap, banging on the keyboard while I was typing important information (like our credit card number), and screaming as shrilly as possible when I tried to stop him. I finally finished and decided we all needed to go outside. Jack always calms down outside.
|Outside earlier that day.|
But not today! He wailed when his uncle blew the bubbles he requested. He sobbed when I tried. He shrieked as loud as he could when I asked him if he wanted to go back inside. He nodded emphatically when I offered to take him to the playground. Off we went.
At the playground it was more of the same. Shortly after arriving, however, Andrew asked about the dinner I had tempted him with, so we went back inside to make it and to muffle the screams.
As I cooked, Jack stomped on my feet and pushed my legs to get me to pick him up with my hands covered in raw chicken. And he screamed. And screamed. And screamed. At long last Lewis made the executive decision to put Jack to bed early. Yes, please.
Finally, there was peace. Dinner made it to the oven in a flash. I could hear the bath running upstairs, and Lewis struggling to get Jack calm enough to take off his clothes. Then I hear my name, called by Lewis in his "get up here right now, this is serious" voice.
I found them in Jack's room, where Lewis declared he may have found the root of Jack's mood and handed me the diaper he had just removed. I turned the diaper over in my hands. Nothing seemed amiss. The wetness indicator line showed that it was a little wet, but that was all.
Wait. Jack's diapers don't have a wetness indicator line.
I had stuffed my 21-month-old son into his two-month-old sister's diapers without even blinking an eye.
Poor little Jack. Squished in an excessively too small diaper, and his mom about dies laughing.
We elected to cancel Jack's early bedtime, and he came back downstairs as his normal, pleasant self. We enjoyed a lovely meal of oven-baked chicken, cornbread, strawberries, and grapes.
It's no wonder Jack was such a crab. His panties were literally in a bunch.
Yep. That one's on me.