The Dreaded Denver Diaper Droop
It's bad enough when you're that mom of the droopy-butted toddler running around the park. It's even worse when they can connect you to the Dad's number on the field. Maybe during my MomFails, I should avoid publicizing ownership of said child. Then again, whatever, right?! I didn't even notice the droop until I tried snapping a photo of her stomping on some worn out peanuts, but hey, at least I noticed it!? We took care of her diaper problems quickly - I'm still a pro at discreet pee pee diaper changes mid-game from my seat. Thank goodness she's not taller than...well, a three year old. <----- Don't know if I mentioned it yet, but Amelia is in the NINETY-NINTH percentile for height. The girl is a giant, which only poses a problem when considering that I'll probably have to start using the ladies room to change her diapers soon...and the fact that she's probably going to have to marry a 6'7" Christian man who likes guns and baseball - surely those exist, right?!
Surely they do, Mommy.
Don't you worry about me! God knows what He's doing! Just do like this and dance away your concerns - it's more fun that way anyways! Especially when the Fish are winning!
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