Last night, Grammy Jane babysat so mommy and daddy could go out to dinner. We found a detailed confession on the table when we got home:

Awesome…Mom and Dad just left. Grammy and I are heading upstairs to get a new bum. Grammy Jane’s singing the “New Bum” song to me. Wanna new bum, duh duh…one that don’t got a crack, duh duh… She just grabbed Goodnight Moon and we’re going back downstairs.

We’re heading into the kitchen so Grammy Jane can make a peanut butter & banana sandwich and get some milk. That sandwich looks yucky. Ahhh..that flash is bright. Grammy Jane is taking pictures to send to Aunty Danielle. We’re sitting on the floor and Grammy Jane’s holding me so we can read Goodnight Moon while she eats that gross sandwich.

I can’t take it anymore…BLLLLLAAAAAHHHHHH!!!! Crap, now my dinner is all over the place. At least I hit Grammy Jane with most of it. Look, it’s on her pants, the rug, and the chair. Dude..I even made a puddle in the cuff of her jeans. I’m pretty good at this.

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Back upstairs…”New Bum” song again. New diaper, new onesie, new jammies. I think she’s trying to figure out if I’m done spewing before she cleans it up. Look, it’s still sitting there. Grammy said she’s bringing extra clothes next time. Is she telling me it’s okay to keep throwing up on her? Nice, a masochist. She said she doesn’t mind being stinky and wet because she loves me so much and that’s a small price to pay to be with me. Now I feel bad.