Schadenfreude

When I discovered that I was expecting a boy, one of my good blogger friends (was it you?) gave me one singular piece of advice: buy a bunch of baby washcloths, and every time you change a diaper, lay one over the penis. Every time. I was assured I would be thankful for that advice. And I was.

Misterpie was reckless, and despite my passing on that advice, changed bareback for the first week - only to be peed on twice, once full in the face. He came around.

And we've been using those washcloths ever since, delighted occasionally to have them catch a would-be shower and contain it to the change pad, washcloth, and sometimes baby clothes. But the Bun has grown, and become wilder, more adventurous, and, well, more grabby.

The other night, as I changed him, he grabbed the washcloth right off his business and promptly peed up my arm in the middle of the night. I was unimpressed, but still, it was at least just an arm.

Then last night, he again grabbed his washcloth from his lap, waving it triumphantly in the air, bringing it to his face to inspect, crowing his pleasure with his own antics as I worked to clean up a messy behind, no hands free to retrieve it from his grasp. And he peed again - full in his own face. Sputtering and crying out in shock and anger, he was decidedly not pleased.

And as for me - is it terrible to admit that I took a little pleasure in his displeasure, having been on the receiving end of the ame a couple of nights before?