Earlier today, I was out and had to change Jacob's explosion in the car. I grabbed a diaper and the wipes out of the diaper bag and got to it. It took all the wipes in my travel case to get him clean (including the heel of his sock...he loves to kick happily while I'm changing him). Whilst fastening his diaper, I'm thinking, "This is hitting him really high up the belly." Then I turned it over and read the number on the butt.
Oops. Number 4, not number 1. Too late now.
So my son is wearing my daughter's diaper. Could be worse. He could be in her fuzzy pink bouncer or her pink butterflied crib.
Again.
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