The sweet smell of...

Tuesday is trash day. Today is Friday. With the biohazard of a baby with diarrhea, the garage stinks. I even double bagged the bad ones, but the smell still seeps out. I'd put the bin outside, but am afraid something would be drawn to it. That and it's too far for me to fling the trash at. Right now I can open the door and fling the bag into the bin. If it was moved outside, I'd have to put on shoes and walk it out.

On a lighter note... My son has taken to telling me when the baby poops. Usually I know it's happened; I'm blessed with the nose. My husband is not blessed with the nose. I mean he can smell the bad ones, but not the general run-of-the-mill-poop ones. The boy will declare, "The baby pooped" and then proceed to try and look down the back of her pants. If she wants nothing to do with it, she'll run away - usually while shrieking. If that doesn't work, he'll wait until she's still, then stick his nose right next the offending diaper. Not sure what the draw is, other than to prove he's right.