When the diaper days are done, I won’t watch chunky little things waddle around the kitchen or big blue eyes stare up at me like I am their entire universe.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t stare at little frog legs tucked up underneath while they’re sound asleep or laugh at little up and down squats while they try to dance to their favorite theme song on the TV.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t zip up sweet little onesies or tickle tiny pink toes while we play this little piggy over and over again.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t watch little bellies move up and down amidst the sweet little diaper patterns while I lie next to them ever so quietly.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t watch wrinkly baby legs and arms crawl across the floor as fast as they can to get to me.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t be greeted with squeals of joy as I enter my home or exit my bathroom.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t hear “ma-ma, ma-ma, ma-ma” on repeat like it’s my favorite song 24 hours a day.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t buy little swim diapers and watch them waddle around outside the pool or see that sweet little diaper tan.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t smell that faint, sweet, baby powder scent when I scoop them up and pull them in tightly for a snuggle.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t see that sweet little belly sticking out while they devour spaghetti in their high-chair and paint their entire face with it . . . only to pull them out of the diaper and put them back in the tub.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t lift their sweet little legs and kiss their sweet little belly button after I clean their sweet little bottom and put a fresh one on.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t stand a few extra minutes in the diaper aisle admiring all the patterns or chatting with another mom about how old her baby is or the fact we both haven’t slept in months.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t holler at my husband that we need more diapers and then try to DIY my own diaper to get us by before he returns from the store, and we both laugh at the ridiculousness of my creation.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t watch my husband’s concerned facial expression while he tries to change the baby without making her cry again because she does not like diaper changing time.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t try to distract them with a light-up toy during changing time so they don’t roll over again and their diaper ends up a crooked mess.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t look for a diaper in the pitch black of night and change it faster than a cheetah in the wild so they don’t fully wake from their slumber.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t hear my mom proudly volunteer to change her grandson or granddaughter simply because she loves the diaper days so much.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t watch my dad smile when his grandson runs across the floor in his diaper grinning, and it reminds him of my brother and me when we were both small.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t clean up the mess that happens the first time they figure out how to get out of their soiled diaper and run across the entire house triumphantly while I try to catch them.
When the diaper days are done, I won’t look down at little chubby cheeks smiling up at me with a toothless grin and gripping my leg ever so tightly while I quickly try to put away the dishes.
I used to say I couldn’t wait for the diaper days to be done, but now I know for certain that when they are . . . I’ll want them back.
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