Well it's official: I should not adopt nor give birth to an infant. For me older child adoption is the only way to go. Why? Well let me tell you…

My cutie niece Emma!

Recently my hubby Bill and I were babysitting for his brother and wife, Mike & Ronda. Their little girl Emma is the most adorable thing you've ever seen (yes I know, I'm biased.) When Mike & Ronda asked if we would take her for an afternoon we jumped on the chance to spend the day with her. We also thought it wouldn't hurt to get some more kid practice before we adopt.

Emma is a year and a half and therefore still in diapers. If you remember I joked that I have a diaper phobia, and while it's not really a phobia, I honestly do have a hard time with them. Mike & Ronda know this, but when they dropped her off they were happy to report – and we were relieved to hear – that she had already pooped that morning. Whew! We should be poop-free for the rest of the afternoon.

Not so fast! Sure enough, she gets a poopy diaper. Now the thing is I've actually changed a diaper before… ONCE. And I could only manage to do it by NOT LOOKING. (Yes, it's actually possible to successfully change a diaper with your head turned and a horrified look on your face.) I think since I got through it once before I was a little overconfident with Emma that morning, because when I went to change her diaper I made the mistake of LOOKING.

As soon as I saw the poop I quickly looked away, said to Bill something to the effect of, "Oh my God, that's SO GROSS!", and then I started gagging. And then I actually threw up in my mouth a little. And then my eyes got huge and I looked at Bill with a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face as I realized the inevitable. And then I dashed for the bathroom and HURLED.

Yes, I ACTUALLY VOMITED. And the worst part is that it hit me so hard and so fast that I didn't make it all the way into the toilet before I tossed my pancakes (we did indeed have pancakes that morning). I managed to barf mostly in the toilet but partially on the bathmat. NICE.

So I hurl one big hurl, and then I start laughing because I know how ridiculous this whole freakin' scenario is. People change millions of diapers a day without barfing! I scooped poop every day for four years working at the animal shelter and NEVER barfed! But I look at poo smeared on a kid's booty and I projectile vomit? WHATEVER!!!

So I'm laughing, and laughing HARD. I'm laughing so hard that I start crying. Laughing so hard that it took me a minute before I could even stop to talk. Then I yell down the hall to Bill, "OMG dude, I just hurled!" And Bill yells back, sounding a little miffed, "Yeah I know, I heard it." And that makes me laugh even harder. And all the while my poor hubby is in there having to step up and do what I couldn't do without barfing. He deserves a gold star or something.

Later on he says to me, "You always know it's a good party when someone hurls." Ha! And of course Mike & Ronda laughed their keisters off when we told them. They felt a little bad of course, but it's too funny not to laugh.

And that, my friends, is why it's a good thing I'm not having a baby or adopting a baby. The Great Diaper Debacle of 2008 (as I have since dubbed it) pretty much confirmed without a shadow of a doubt that adopting an older kid is definitely the right choice. Yes I know I will still have to deal with some poo, snot, and puke, but at least I won't have to do it several times a day.

Actually, the truth is I probably won't end up having to deal with that stuff at all. One glimpse of bodily goo and I'm likely to barf and then Bill will have to deal with it instead. God I love that man.

(Yeah I know, I've already been told a thousand times "It's different with your own kids", but honestly, I have no desire to find out if that's actually true!)