This morning as I dressed my dear infant Jesse, on this the first day of fall, my mind pondered upon the virtue and propriety of dressing infants in onesies. As cold weather sets in, methought, well-cared babies wear onesies each day under their clothes. In the course of its idle ramblings upon the many & diverse paths of thought, my mind did alight upon the gem that onsies also prevent said babies from reaching, and thereby removing, their diapers. This I had learned in the course of my years as a mother.
Despite these thoughts, I did not, nay did not, put a onsie on Jesse. And that, dear reader, is where the tragedy of this tale begins.
After church I indulged in a long and unbroken slumber. The fan in the bathroom adjoining my bed chamber provided such a sweet murmur as to drown out the bumps and rumbles of my four older children as they entertained themselves in their playroom below. And yet, alas, that sweet fan did also prevent me from hearing the warning sounds from Jesse’s chamber, as Jesse did not nap, but performed a task very, very different in quality and nature.
I will not violate your tender sensibilities with a description of the scene of base destruction and degradation that did assault my eyes upon entering the chamber. Allow me to present only these two items of fact as established in the public record:
First, infant crib slats must be no more than 2-3/8" apart.
Second, Jesse’s crib is a lovely Jenny Lind, which means that each of its 50 slats is comprised of approximately 27 grooves and bumps.
And that’s all I have to say about that.