F For Effort

So.
This morning, when I was minding my own business, Mally came up to me and said, "Nicole: stink."
I won't dazzle you all with my deductive reasoning and logic skills, but let me just make it clear that I had no problems interpreting what Mally was trying to tell me: Whitney needed a diaper change.

I placidly walked Whitney to the back room, and then forgot about her, because Jay distracted me and made me laugh. (It was his fault. Honest, it was.)

When I finally remembered my somber errand, I called out, "WHITNEY!"
"Yeh." (More translations necessary, I know. Whitney says, "Yeh" to say, uh, "Yes.")
Turns out, she'd been amused by Jay, too.
She was hiding under his chair.

We reunited, I did what needed to be done, and while I was trying to wrap things up (quite literally) she kept squirming and laughing and creating a general brouhaha. It took me three or four tries to get her pants back on, but I finally plopped her down on the ground so she could run off and play, while I cheerfully went to dispose of the evidence. I noticed that, as I left, Whitney toppled and fell on her face.
"Be careful!" I admonished smartly.

While I was outside at the trashcan, I heard my mom laughing.
Let me clarify.
She wasn't laughing: she was LAUGHING.
When my mom laughs like that, I know something is reallyreallyreallyreally funny.

Well, turns out, it was. When I came back inside, she could barely talk she was laughing so hard.
"You get an F!" she said.
She was talking to ME.

She held up Whitney.
It seems that, somehow, I managed to put both of Whitney's legs into the same pant leg.

If you've ever read C.S. Lewis' book, "Voyage Of The Dawn Treader", picture Whitney appearing as the perfect likeness of a monopod.

It was embarrassing.
Even if mom did find it wildly amusing.