Last night I burned Ryann. She still whimpers when we change her diaper, which may not seem too bad, except that she usually laughs. She giggles from the tickle of the cold wipes and sometimes keeps going to full-on belly laughs with the requisite writhing. But right now she whimpers and we dab. Because I burned my baby's bum.
I was cooking dinner while Ryann was taking a nap. I decided to put some jalapeno into my rice to spice it up a bit. Delicious. Slid the enchiladas into the oven, washed my hands, and went to get the waking baby in the other room. As usual, we went straight to the changing table to take off the sopping nap-diaper. No biggie. But shortly after the usual diaper change, my very happy baby started to get . . . not so happy. She started to get antsy. Then agitated. Then downright crazy. Ryann does not get crazy. Unless she's being tickled by her daddy. And that's a whole different kind of crazy. She was taking part in the all-out-baby-screaming-people-staring-mommy-crying-cats-running-neighbors-calling kind of crazy. I un-diapered her. She looked a bit red. More wipes. An even more extreme level of crazy. That's when I put two and two together. AHA! Jalapenos and baby genitals do not mix. We jumped straight into a cool tub and washed with tons of soap. The cool tub was the best thing my frazzled mind could have thought of. Ryann calmed down. Then the doorbell rang. And rang. And I realized that dear daddy had forgotten his keys. We jumped out and I ran down the stairs in a towel, unlocked the door, and bolted back up the stairs yelling that I had burned Ryann. Oh me oh my. She was fairly happy the rest of the night, though she spent it laying down, as she couldn't yet sit on her sore rump.