In the subsequent six hours that culminate with the sun again rising, I learn a number of things: dozing in an upright position is hard on a person’s neck; tiny otters wrapped in towels on the kitchen counter wiggle much less if you shove every other bite into their mouth as you cut their snack; otter poop is super gross and will stain everything it touches. Including the couch when a particularly fearsome squirt leaks through the towel in the two seconds you’ve put the baby down to get yet another towel.
If motherhood involves this much poop, I am definitely not ready. God, I hope Sarah knows what she’s in for.
Ryan holds on to the otter long enough for me to start a huge pot of coffee and slide into a quick poop-removing shower. All clean, I walk out wrapped in my robe to find him with
