I was wet.
But I wasn't wet like I'd stood in the front lawn under the sprinkler on a hot mid-summer day.
More like I'd received a sprinkle from the arch of water cascading across the yard.
Worse yet, it wasn't water at all. It was pee. I'd been peed on. Again.
Tyler had just snuggled up next to me when I felt a warm sensation on my side. He'd sat just right so that the stream of pee escaped out the top of the diaper and trickled down my shirt.
I don't know why I was surprised. After 2 1/2 years, I'd been peed on more than I'd ever thought was possible.
Early on, the concept of "springing a leak" was foreign to me. I'd change every diaper without a second thought. Until the first time it happened.
I detached the each side flap and folded down the front. I looked away and as I reached over for a baby wipe, I felt something dribble across my head, down my forehead and drip onto my chest.
I looked up, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and realized Tyler was peeing. Straight up. With perfect aim at my head.
I screamed. Why? Because I'm a girl. Because it'd never happened before. Because I'd been caught off guard and was stunned. Because for a split second I had to consider the fact that I might be on candid camera.
It took me a good minute to collect myself, finish the diaper change, and head into the bathroom to towel off.
I called the husband to relay the events. He burst out laughing and had to hang up. He was still laughing about it when he came home that night.
About a week later the husband was on diaper duty when it happened to him.
I just stood outside the room and chuckled to myself.
Wouldn't be the last time either one of us would receive a "yellow shower"