My son's first summer was a hot one, and we did not have air conditioning. Living on the outskirts of Toronto those hot summer days was like living in someone's armpit. This particular day was dazzlingly hot.

The dank humid air smelled skunky; clinging, clogging every pore. It was noon, and the sun has reached its zenith, a blazing eye burning in the sky, mocking me. It sees the future. I had just fed my son Wil, and changed his diaper before putting him down for a nap. I decided not to put his shorts and tee back on because he really didn't need it- it was too warm.

About two hours later he awakesI can hear his soft little coos, he is babbling away in a language only other babies and stuffed animals understand. His electronic frog Baby Tad is in the crib with him and they seem to be playing nicely. Tad is singing "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands". I love it when he wakes content, it makes me happy. All is right with the world. I figure I can leave him up there a bit, and finish cleaning up the kitchen. Heck, I tell myself, he is safe up there in his crib and he is happy enough to be there for now. It is a few moments before I realize Tad is no longer singing, and Wil is not longer cooing. Come to think of it, it's been quiet for awhile. Too quiet. I dry my hands and make my way upstairs.

Just as I turn up the last few stairs the smell hits me like a moose on the highway. I groan- this is going to be a helluva diaper change. Oh it was a tad more than a diaper change.
The first thing I noticed was how brown his hands were on the crib bars, and what is that on his legis that? That is! Oh, oh please no. I edge closer, my face in my hands, I am whimpering a little and my eyes are tearing from the smell. Baby Tad is dead, lying face up in the crib, his lifeless keypad will never again light up and sing. He seems to have had the worst of it- I could no longer clearly make out his features. It was only his blue "OnOff" pad on his foot that identified him.

The crib sheet looks like Van Gogh's Starry Night, except the medium was clearly not oil on canvas. The rungs were coated as well, his security blanket "MooCow" lay half inhalf out of the crib. It looked like it was trying to escape- but never quite made it. I sympathized. I was pondering my own escape.

But The Boy is there, looking up at me, smiling with all of his three teeth, arms up in the air. He wanted up- but I wanted to run and hide. Where is a level four containment suit when you need it?

I picked him up, holding him at arms length, and carried him to the bath. I turned on the water and just let it run while I wiped, and cleaned, and wiped and cleaned, all the while muttering soft though not quite religious prayers. I did it over and over again until the water ran clear. But oh, oh I still had the rest of the mess to deal with. It was waiting for me. Waiting there in the bedroom, in the cruel, cruel heat of the summer.

There is a lesson here folks: It may be warm, and you might be tempted to let your cute little babe to run free with just a diaper on, but I don't recommend it. No, I don't recommend it at all.