Steve took Ruby into her bedroom to put her down for a nap. A few minutes later...?
Steve: Tara! I need help in here. OhGodOhGodOhGod!. Can you help me with Ruby's diaper???
(I sigh. I hear it all the time.)
Tara: I'm sure you can handle it.
Steve: NO! I can't! It's a bad one. I need help! Please help me!!
(I say nothing and continue to sit at the computer. He hears nothing but the chittering of my keyboard.)
Steve: So you're not going to help me?!?!! You're just going to sit there??!?!?!
Tara: *sigh* No, I'll come help you in a minute.
(I figure if I wait long enough he'll sort it out himself)
Steve: CAN YOU COME NOW PLEASE???!
I finish what I'm doing and head into Ruby's room... where I walk into a shit storm that was, admittedly, definitely a two person clean-up job (a third person would have been nice). Steve was holding out Ruby at arms length (probably had been since he set off the initial alarm) with a look of absolute fear in his eyes. The poor bastard, I can't believe he didn't start crying! It was ugly.
Like, immediate-bed-stripping, fire-up-the-laundry-machine-NOW, and hose-down-the-baby... UGLY.
I felt somewhat guilty for not taking immediate action (poor Ruby) when he initially asked for my assistance, but I hope the boy has come to realize that calls for help while changing a diaper are only to be used in the most dyer of situations (like this one) and not every other time that he is stuck with a simple shitty diaper (like too many times in the past).