Jonas has discovered my parenting superpower: changing diapers.
It’s not exactly something that I’ve dreamed about. I’d rather have eyes in the back of my head, the ability to create a protective anti-germ shrink wrap around my boys, a magical power that compels 12 uninterrupted hours of sleep, or a voice so powerful that they listen every single time.
Whenever Jonas needs a diaper change, and both Sean and I are around, he grabs my hand and yanks me toward his room. If Sean scoops him up, Jonas sobs and points at me. Then, when I pick him up, he proclaims, “Mama. Diaper, mama. Diaper!”
Apparently, I can wipe bottoms like nobody’s business.
My husband’s gift is tucking in three-year-olds at 4 am. When he’s home, and Axel runs into our bedroom, he always goes over to Sean.
Even on the nights when I try to let Sean rest after a few rough days and nights at work, Axel insists on his father tucking him in.
We have midnight hissing matches, with me saying, “Axel, let me tuck you in. C’mon, honey. Let’s go back to bed.” And Axel whispering at the top of his lungs – a talent three-year-olds quickly master – “No, Daddy! Hey, hey Daddy. Tuck me in, Daddy!”
Or, if he lets me tuck him in, he’s back five minutes later, poking his father in the arm, “Tuck me in! Tuck me in.”
If only he still wore diapers, maybe I could help.