Было 6-30 утра, воскресенье. Я медленно дрых одним...

It was 6-30 in the morning, Sunday.

I slowly drilled one hemisphere of the brain, the second passively watched as his wife messing with her daughter in bed. At about 6-40 I took a deep breath, turned on my side and hugged Tanya. She and her daughter looked calm. A few minutes passed and my wife patted my hand. It was a conditional sign - my daughter shit and my very diaper came. I tried to apply the tactics of a suddenly snoring elephant, but Tanya was on the alert for a long time and did not allow to merge so easily.

Armed with a diaper, fleece and a mug of warm water, I sat down next to the beta version of a man. The window was ajar, the sun was already peering through the tulle, even some birds were tweeting something outside the window.

My wife, with a smirk, was lying next to her, as if waiting for the right moment: “yeah! I said that you forgot how to change the diaper! “But fuck you” - I mentally thanked her for her support, and with a deft movement of the hand I unfastened my overalls on my daughter. A diaper followed - and although I was ready for a startling attack with a smell (lately her poop smells like she doesn’t drink milk, but eats my dirty socks), even now, in my eyes, small tears of tenderness appeared in this small creature and mustard in the diaper. I confidently took her legs with my left hand, lifted her up and began to wipe her ass.

“Stirlitz, something is not right,” the left hemisphere shared its suspicions with the right. “Hm,” I thought, “really, suspiciously quiet.” I looked up and met with a cunning squint of my daughter’s eyes. She, as usual, tried to lick the rattle to death, but this time there was something else. I looked out the window. Perhaps it was not so light and the birds were not chirping so much. I looked back at her. “Agu agu hehihi,” she muttered. Everything seems to be as usual.

I continued with the diaper change procedure.

“Gu-gu viu ha,” she called me. I looked up again. Something was definitely wrong. She looked at me a little expectantly and insolently. As if she knew something, but I didn’t.
She tensed a little and farted.
Fu ... I squinted and tried not to breathe. The right hand mechanically continued to perform the actions "take cotton wool - wet - wipe from the shoulder blades (yes, sometimes it shaves right down to the shoulder blades) to the bottom - repeat."
Something was wrong ...
“FUCK THIS TRAP, WE ARE IN AN AMBIT” - a sharp thought pierced my brain: the rattle was already just lying nearby, there was not a breeze, as if complete calm, there was ringing silence throughout the room. My daughter had a grin on her face.

She stiffened.
Fucked, I thought.
Her face relaxed.
“Carried” - I did not have time to think.
And I poured 200 grams of fresh creme brulee onto my hands. And a lot of accompanying aroma.

Then everything was flashes, lasting one or two seconds. It was just a hell of a fucking fucking fucking fucker.
Tears of love and tenderness burn me.
I automatically wipe them with my hand.
My throat is seized by the urge of adoration and admiration.
The daughter lies and neighs.
The wife lies nearby and neighs.
Everything around in creme brulee. Daughter in cream brulee, her back in cream brulee, her legs in cream brulee, blanket underneath in cream brulee, my hands in cream brulee, my glasses in cream brulee. If we had a cat, he would also be in creme brulee.
My wife jumps out of bed, runs off into the corridor and I hear her, too, had the urge to adore and adore, and this very much prevents her from laughing.

I make the only right decision - and, firmly clutching my daughter, (the creme brulee is very slippery, however, and there was a decent chance to drop it) I carry her into the bathtub in the sink and arrange a mini-shower.

It took about 3 minutes.
But the bragging remained for the whole day ...