While the majority of my post pertain to Large Fry, one cannot under estimate the power of Small Fry. While smaller in size, he has two weapons of choice (WOC) that can leave me at his mercy.

#1. A crap. Now most people will tell you baby shit is no laughing matter. Small Fry is no exception. Since day one his rear has been an weapon of mass destruction. Let's revisit a time in the not so long ago...

The Scene: The Royal Alexandria Hospital
The Cast: Me, Groom, Small Fry

Small Fry was doing an stint under the lights. He started to yelp so I somehow dragged my sliced and diced ass off the hospital bed to change his diaper. I take off the diaper and lift his legs to wipe his butt. What happens next is nothing short of nightmares. All of a sudden there was a loud noise. Some might say it was the Apocolypse. However I am now standing in front of my darling newborn covered in black and green baby shit. I kid you not.

And what is Groom doing? Laughing. Hysterically. Tears coming out of his eyes laughing. I think he might have snorted even. Ha di ha ha.

So I go for a shower. I come back out. I sleep. I watch my other boyfriend Hotch on a episode of Criminal Minds while Groom goes out for a smoke. He returns to Small Fry squeaking again.

"Your turn". I proclaim in exaggerated tiredness. I have, after all, just given birth to new life. Or something.

So he goes over. Undoes the diaper. Up goes the legs. And POW! Now HE is covered in black and green baby shit. Ever try to laugh with a fresh c-section? Gives "bust a gut" brand new meaning. I had tears. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. He goes to take a shower but guess what? He didn't bring a change of clothes.

So we drove back home with Groom wearing one of my tshirts. I think it was green and said "Going green is HOT!" The HOT may or may not have been in sparkly letters. It does not matter. That night, Small Fry kicked two asses.

And that was just at first. The thing about Small Fry is his diapers are on par to nuclear weapons. I mean on the lines of 'if we had had these during WWI it wouldn't have lasted long" bad. If we had tossed a few of these at Germany they would not have fought back. Trust me. They would have ran far, far away.

And he knows he's screwing with me. He never craps before a bath. Oh no. It's always after. After the powder and lotions and he's dressed smelling so sweet. I'm holding him close reveling in the sweet baby bliss when all of a sudden..it all goes foul. Very very foul. And he laughs. Or after a nap. NOt before. Where he has slept in it and rolled it into every crack possible. Again, more laughter.

See? He knows.

#2: 2 am. Bring your own..whatever. Just get your ass up with me.

This is his motto. He figured out at a young age that when he gets up, I get up. No matter. Mom needs sleep? TOO BAD. Mom is dying of the boogy woogy flu? SUCK IT UP. So ever so often he decides to send me subliminal messages aka wails that he wants to get up. And it's usually around 2 am. So we get up. He crawls. He plays. I stare blankly at Facebook wondering why all my friends' names are suddenly morphing into one long name.

Then he squeaks. I see light at the end of the tunnel. I can has sleep? I try. I get him a bottle of fresh milk. I tuck him in. I stand outside his door for 5 minutes...6 minutes..waiting. I hear nothing. I climb into bed ever so gentle in hopes not to wake the infant that is across the hall. I lay still. Afraid to move. Listening for the noise that causes an icy clutched hand around my heart. It doesn't come. I close my eyes...finally I can sleee...

*WAH! WAH! WAH!*

Shit. Are you kidding me?