First Time for Everything

When I was not quite two years old, a little boy took a cigarette lighter and set a mattress on fire in the room where I was sleeping. Immediately, he ran downstairs and said to our mothers, "Fire! Fire!" As a result, Mom dashed up to yank me out of my crib, and though the house had a lot of damage, I didn't have any personally. Ever since, though, when the story gets told, it ends with, "We are so thankful he told us. It could've been so much worse."

That's what was running through my mind about ten minutes ago, as I laughed to myself and thought, "It could've been SO.MUCH worse."

For the last couple of days, Freddie has had some diaper rash towards the top of his rear end. Though we're treating it with Vaseline and Desitin, it still bothers him, as sometimes, I'll see him stick one of his hands down the back of his britches and go to down scratching. 

That is, I can only assume, what happened today. 

I'd been in the playroom, playing with the boys when I came to the den to upload a video for my parents to see. A few minutes later, I hear Jones ask for a napkin, because there's a mess on the table. I walk in to the kitchen to get one and instead see two little heads standing at the baby gate with one little, stinky-covered hand extended my way. 

"Mess, Mama! Mess!" Freddie said, one of his paws looking like tar. I picked him up and held him a safe distance away from me, laughing to myself, as I took him back to be changed. "It could have been SO MUCH worse," I thought, imagining what if he'd "painted" the walls or something with the mess he'd excavated while scratching his hiney.

Once he was changed, fresh Desitin had been applied, and his hands had been THOROUGHLY washed (multiple times), I put Freddie back in the playroom. He immediately went to the table and pointed to a series of little black smears. "Mess! Mess!" 

Jones was right. There WAS a mess on the table.

But it could've been SO MUCH worse.