A post where I won't talk about my boobs OR Gwen's bum

Yesterday, something wonderful happened.

It started on Friday, when Chris said, "I'd like to take Gwen to Woodgrove Mall on Saturday." I chose to interpret this exactly as he'd said it - that he (singular) wanted to take Gwen to the mall. (This may seem strange, until you consider that he used to work at the mall, and wants to show her off to his former co-workers.)

I immediately agreed, in such a way that made my interpretation obvious: "That sounds great! You do that, and I'll have a shower and a bit of time to myself."

(ASIDE: I've never been one of those shower-every-day type of people, but since having Gwen, the frequency of my showers has fallen to once a week. It's not the showers that are impossible so much as the 60-minute ritual of doing my hair that follows - letting it dry for 40 minutes, then styling for 20. If this ritual is not followed, or if it is compromised in any way, my hair is a disaster until the next time I get to shower. Since that's such a big commitment, I only manage to do it once a week. And suddenly that time is the freakin' highlight of my entire week.)

So, at about 11am Chris and Gwen headed out to the mall with a diaper bag and a bottle of pumped milk. I had a shower, surfed the web for 40 minutes, did my hair, chatted online with my best friend, tidied up around the house, had a long leisurely lunch with a novel, and so on. Shortly after 1:30pm, right around the time I was really starting to wonder where they were, they returned.

"So, how was it?" I asked, all well-fed and showered and relaxed and happy.
"Awful," Chris grunted through clenched teeth. "I am covered in pee and milk."

Gwen had cried and screamed. The bottle had leaked when he tried to feed her, and on top of that, she hadn't been all that interested in eating it. She had had all kinds of diaper catastrophes, ruining both her clothes and his. And had he mentioned that she cried and screamed?

I took Gwen over to the couch and fed her, waiting for the appreciative "I don't know how you do this every day, you are truly amazing!".

(Needless to say, I'm still waiting...)

I suppose it would be too much to hope that he means to make this a regular Saturday morning ritual?