Over the past few nights, my husband and I have observed a phenomenon I am certain is not unique to our family.  We call it "Ninja Baby."  Typically, I am the type of person to awaken should you blink next to me.  However, the last 4-5 nights, T-Rex has wound up in our bed, through neither my nor my husband's doing, and neither of us has heard him come in.  Mind you, we sleep with the doors open lest the cats keep us awake all night.  He closes his door as well as ours behind him, yet we've heard nothing.  So, I was aware that we had a sneaky little ninja on our hands, but I assumed his escapades were confined to the darkness of night…

How very wrong I was…

I have taken T-Rex's binky.  I made him throw them away today and then I buried them in the trash knowing he may very well come behind me and fish them out.  About an hour after I made him throw them away, I put him down for his nap.  As usual, there was much protesting, opening of the door, and attempts to escape.  After about 20-30 minutes, I assumed he gave up when he didn't attempt to peek his little head out after 5 minutes, and I went into the playroom to spend some one-on-one time with Mega Man.

About halfway into a rousing session of railroad construction, Mega had to go to the bathroom.  When he got up, so did I, figuring the change in position would be good for my tingling legs and feet.  Just as I was beginning to regain feeling in my feet, I heard Mega screaming, "Come see what Skeeter B did!  Look what he's doing!  Momma, look and see!  Come here!  Come here, he's in your room!"  I hobbled on feet full of pins and needles into the mud room, the kitchen, dining room, down the hall, and towards my room.  What greets me is a sight I cannot even begin to accurately describe…

T-Rex is perched on my pillow (MY SIDE, of course!) with something all over him.  There is any entirely different something all over my duvet cover.  As I take my second step into the room, I am assaulted by the smell of Sweet Pea and realize that at least I can figure out what is smeared all over my duvet cover: Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea Hand and Body Cream – you know, the good stuff.  I can deal with that.  I can wash the duvet cover, and that is, after all why I thought it best to cover my snow white down comforter.  I continue to move forward, visually inspecting my son, trying to figure out what is smeared all over him…  No other odor detectable.  It's a very familiar texture…  As I run my fingers over his delicate skin, ever so lightly so as not to rub something in that may be damaging, I look down into his cherubic little face to see the most double-sided grin I have ever seen.  At first glimpse, he looks absolutely angelic.  His big blue eyes are sparkling lovingly as he gazes into his Momma's eyes, and his little dimples are standing out prominently against his chubby little cheeks.  I almost smile in return, and then notice the sparkle in his eyes is more of a mischievous glint than angelic sparkle, and those big blue eyes are belying more foul play than love.  I continue my visual inspection of him and as I get to his head, my fingers hit…  Goop.  Just goop.  I pick him up and bring him into the dining room where the light is better…

I flip the light on, still not able to smell this weird substance that coats his hands, face, and luscious little bouncy straw-colored locks.  Once in the light, it becomes painfully obvious what is coating my impishly angelic son: Vaseline.  I had made the fatal mistake of leaving it on my night table to remind myself to apply it to my severely chapped lips before going to bed every night, and apparently, once the lotion lost its novelty, he moved onto the Vaseline.  I know the lotion came first because, upon inspectio of the tub of Vaseline, I found traces of lotion and a lingering smell of Sweet Pea.

Sighing, I take him to the sink…  I look around wondering just what in the hell is safe to use on him that will remove Vaseline.  I started by gently washing his hair in normal shampoo to try to loosen the goop, and then repeated with dish detergent thinking grease and Vaseline, both being water repellent, had to be similar.  Most of the goop did come out, and I followed up with another shampoo wash to keep his hair from smelling lemony fresh and being brittle.  I dried it a bit and brushed it, explaining to him through his many protests that this is what he gets for playing in Mommy's room and rubbing foreign substances on his person.  I put him to bed, and for once, he did not dare get up.

When he came out of his room this evening, I noticed that his hair was still exactly as I had left it…  I guess dish detergent isn't all that great for removing Vaseline after all…  Guess he's going to have to sport a very *ahem* particular 'do for a bit…

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This is the face of my Vaseline monster, who also just proclaimed that James Taylor's "Shower the People" is his jam.   

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