Not For Weak Stomachs.

I probably shouldn't be posting this. But it goes with motherhood, which is my job. So here goes nothing...Audrey and I were doing our typical routine this morning. We were at the point where I was changing her diaper, getting her dressed, and ready for a nap. All was well. We read some books [her favorites include Brown Bear, Brown Bear by duh, my favorite author, Eric Carle, and B is for Bear, which I can't think of the author, but I have the entire book completely memorized now], sang songs [which usually include Jesus Loves Me, Jesus Loves the Little Children, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star] and then laid down for a nap. I happily go into the kitchen to make some toast for myself. Get out my adorable butter knife and began to spread, but, wait, I look down and...there it was. Audrey's diaper remains were loud and clear on my pink bath robe. The funny thing is, I didn't even flinch. Because that is just part of it. I actually finished buttering my toast (I didn't want it to get cold before I buttered it, I like it when the butter is melted), then went and changed. Yup, welcome to parenthood.