The day we brought Ezra home from the hospital was magical. There was a light, glittery, fluffy snow falling outside and the 2006 Winter Olympics opening ceremony was playing on the little hospital tv as we packed up. Dave warmed up the car before I started shuffling down the corridors towards it. The light snow continued to fluff down as I painfully made my way into the passenger seat. Ezra was finally in his carseat (we'd needed lessons from the nurse) and Dave secured him in the back. Off we went like a herd of turtles, Dave turning into the street like a 90-year-old, waiting for all other vehicles to be out of sight before going forward. The snow made a slight covering on the road and as we drove down the hill on Eramosa, we heard a strange rumbling. Suddenly, the large, 4-inxh-thick sheet of ice that had been covering the roof of the car slid onto the windshield, obscuring our visibility and breaking the windshield wipers so they wouldn't wipe anymore. This was scary. We were transporting the most precious cargo ever and now Dave could just barely see out on a slippery road. He pulled over and wiped the ice and snow off the windshield. The wipers still weren't working so we drove the last kilometer or so very carefully.
As a result, we felt rather traumatized when we walked into our home after three momentous days away. When we arrived we changed Ezra's diaper. I can't remember now if he was crying or if we heard him poop or what but we changed his diaper. And we forgot to cover his penis. Of course, he peed right into his eyes and immediately started crying – hard. I also burst into tears... I was clearly an unfit mother for letting him pee in his eye. Hopefully it hasn't done any permanent damage to his psyche.