Once upon a time I owned a beautiful red couch. It was the first legitimate piece of new furniture I had ever owned and when it was shoved (and I do mean shoved) through the narrow door of my studio apartment for the first time, I was in love. With a couch. I read many a book, took many a nap, had many a late night conversation, watched many an episode of Felicity, ate more than my fair share of frozen dinners, and laughed and cried and daydreamed on that big red couch.
The red couch came with me when I moved into the apartment that would be Matt's and my first home. It fit just right into the new place and I loved evenings when Matt would be on one end reading a book and I on the other end reading my book while cookies baked in the oven or the tea pot whistled in the nearby kitchen. Early on in our marriage, we did have a small incident which involved a red pen being left out on the red couch...without it's top. This was a low moment in our marriage. It took a little while for me to get over the red pen situation. But, I turned the cushion to its other pristine side and went on with life.
A few years later, and a few places of residence later, we had a baby boy named Sam. Maybe I've mentioned him before. Anyhoo, during the first eleven months of his life, our couch was in storage as we lived with family during a major job hunt by the hub. So, the couch was spared from spit up, diaper leaks, bottle spills and the like. I'm sure it sighed with relief in its storage unit.
That brings us to today. Not much has happened in the way of disaster spills or major mishaps in the last nine months of Sam's co-existence with the red couch. There are a few grape juice stains, although rather faint considering the red fabric. And there are some other odd smudges that I think forensics would prove are yogurt and possibly peanut butter. But, other than those and a few raisins between the cushions, the red couch has been relatively unscathed by the Samster. Until today.
I've discovered (in a stroke of brilliance and possibly negligent parenting) that if I give Sam a sippy cup of juice and turn on Thomas the Train, I can take a shower and get ready without having the whole upstairs ransacked. This way I can get ready in roughly thirty-five minutes or less rather than two hours or more. And so, this morning, dreaming of all the outings we could take ourselves on if we got ready early and headed out, I gave Sam his juice, I turned on Thomas the Train, and I went to take a shower.
First mistake: I decided against putting Sam's shorts on this morning and let him just wear his t-shirt and diaper for a bit. I didn't think that would be a big deal and he might even like the extra mobility.
Second mistake: He'd already seen this particular Thomas the Train episode a few times and apparently, it wasn't really that stimulating anymore.
Third mistake: I gave Sam his third sippy cup of the morning as I headed off to the shower.
And so, as you may have guessed, I came back to find Sam wearing only a t-shirt. No diaper. Along with a big grin. I quickly scanned the room for any unpleasant items or "incidents." At first, I thought I'd caught him early enough and then...there it was. A big, wet puddle in the middle of my red couch. Essentially, Sam had taken off his diaper, settled into the comfy couch and just let it flow.
No mall, no library, no anything for us this morning. Just frantic re-diapering and then attempting to give my red couch back some of its dignity. Currently, the cushion covers are drying in the sun and later I'll do some steam cleaning. But, I don't think my red couch will ever be quite the same.
I suppose it could be worse. I could own a suede couch the color of sand. Or Sam could have done more than just a number one in this situation. So, I will just let it go and determine to never let Sam go without his shorts again. Ever.
Moral of the Story/To-Do list: Duct tape Sam's diapers on next time, cut him off at two sippy cups, and hunt down one of those plastic sofa covers my great grandma used on her couch back in 1978. Done.