So maybe it's a good thing I won't be a mother anytime soon...

Another wonderful thing about Virginia: I get to see babies again! I've missed young children while being away at school.  (Granted, there is an abnormally high infant population on the BYU campus as compared to other college campuses.) Kennedy (the adorable cousin pictured above) made my day at our family reunion when she actually wanted to be held by me! And when she called the little creature in our backyard a "rabbit bunny" instead of a "bunny rabbit," well, I about died.

A family friend left two of their children here for a few days while on vacation, and their conversation was a constant source of entertainment and enlightenment. The older boy told us about his list of future inventions. These inventions included such useful things as a lighter fueled by orange juice ("Because the earth is going to run out of natural gas any time now, but we still have plenty of oranges!"); a car that "sweats" on the inside when it's hot ("To make sure the passengers are always cooled down"); and a gun that shoots out bats ("So that their highly powerful sonar can help them to track down your target"). That lad will do great things someday. 

The best place to acquire babies (on a non-permanent basis) is at church. You can just walk into sacrament meeting and pick out a baby. In this way, church is similar to a formal ball. If you see someone you want to dance with, you just approach in a smooth, confident manner and ask, "Do you mind if I cut in?" Rebecca and I are experts in baby acquisition. Soon after our arrival in Sunday School, we had ourselves a lovely young lass. She is usually a cheerful little ray of sunshine, but last Sunday she was a little under the weather, so we took her to the bathroom to change her diaper. 

Readers of a more squeamish nature may want to stop reading at this point. (Granted, I am probably the Queen of Squeamishness and I'm also writing this, so you'll probably be okay.) Neither Rebecca nor I had changed a diaper for a long time, and this was especially challenging because the poor dear had diaper rash and was sobbing uncontrollably. One of the other ladies in the bathroom took one look at us and figured that she should probably take control of the situation. 

Admittedly, our resentment toward the baby stealer was overshadowed by our relief. That was one messy diaper! Another lady in the bathroom decided that three diaper changers wasn't enough, and jumped right in (figuratively), interrogating us about the child's condition, parents, birthday, diaper bag, social security number, anything she thought could be useful. Never has that bathroom seen a more dire diaper situation, or a team more prepared to solve it. Eventually the sobs had died down to sniffles, and Rebecca and I were left alone with our precious child.

While in the singles branch sacrament meeting (which I usually attend instead of my home ward relief society), I sat and pondered on this peculiar experience. Well first off, the thought came into my head, "Why in the world does English had the idiom, Clean as a baby's bottom?" I thought and thought and could not figure it out... Eventually it occurred to me that the idiom is either Soft as a baby's bottom or Clean as a whistle but certainly not Clean as a baby's bottom. Clearly my college education is paying off.

After pondering this idiom for much more time than I should have, I said a silent prayer of thanks for those selfless women in the ladies bathroom. What they did was an extraordinarily ordinary example of Christlike charity, a dramatically dull act of love that most of the world will never hear of. Diaper changers everywhere, I salute you. Better you than me.