Digital Native

We packed as much as we could into this 4th of July weekend.

And, then we packed in some more. It's been a fun, fulfilling, exhausting weekend full of family time and sunshine.

A delicious combination.

We spent the actual day of the 4th with my sister and her family at her father-in-law's camp area/pond/fishing hole/blueberry patch.

We ate and played. The boys swam and dug in the sand and picked blueberries and we were about ready to wrap it up when I realized that my little two-year old had a messy diaper. He was swimming in the pond and happily squealing down the sliding board into the water, and I figured his swim diaper could hold out just a bit longer until I got up off of my lazy behind he was finished playing.

Because he is, after all, my third child.

With my first, I would have immediately changed him. With my second, I would have contemplated leaving him in a messy diaper, but ultimately decided that no good and responsible parent would EVER leave their child in a messy diaper upon realizing that it was, in fact, messy.

But, with my third, this child has known diapers to sag down to his ankles, desperately hanging on by one tab before he gets changed.

Finally, my dear, patient, sweet, ever-loving, always-willing to serve me when I give him this particular set of doe eyes husband scooped up our little tot and took him to the car to change him.

I immediately heard crying coming from our van and knew:

I had waited too long.

Poor little buddy had a nasty rash, and he was miserable.

Shortly thereafter, he calmed down, we left for the one-hour drive home, and he fell asleep in the car. But, as soon as we arrived home and I lifted him out of his carseat and set him down to walk into our apartment, he started screaming from discomfort and wouldn't walk inside. It was full-on rash vs. little buddy.

Rash was winning.

As soon as we got in the door, I put him right into the bathtub. He was still crying when I got him out a few minutes later and put on his pajamas.

Laden with guilt, I snuggled him in my arms and rocked him in the glider in his room. He sucked his thumb as I stroked his wet hair and smiled down at him and sang him my best lullaby version of his favorite - the "Elmo's World Theme Song."

I looked down at him and simultaneously tried to rid myself of guilt while silently searching for what might make him feel better.

"Momma's so sorry, buddy. Do you want me to keep rocking you and sing some more? Do you want 'Jesus Loves Me' or 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?' Or how about we play Legos for a little bit before night-nights?"

He took his thumb out of his mouth, looked up at me with his big, brown eyes and uttered just one word:

"iPad."