"Topanga, please no. Please no."
Cory pouted as he squeezed his hands together in a begging manner, shaking his head as his wife laid their baby on the changing table and reached for a clean diaper. The phone persistently rang in the background, and Topanga seemed annoyed and rushed as she tossed sanitary wipes to Cory.
"Cory, the law firm told me they'd call tonight. I need to answer the phone before they hang up." Topanga said, leaving the bedroom as Cory strangled the plastic bag of wipes.
Glancing at the five-month-old Riley, who was carefree as she kicked her legs and stared with innocent fascination at the mobile jiggling above her changing table, Cory whined with an exasperated frown. "Riley, whydo have to go so much?"
It was comical for anyone to watch Cory Matthews change a diaper; he acted like he was preparing to perform life-threatening surgery on a dying patient. Stretching a mask over his nose and mouth, then clipping his nostrils shut with a clothes pin for back-up protection from the smells, he wiggled his hands into two layers of gloves. He strained his head up towards the ceiling and whispered a prayer before tip-toeing hesitantly to the changing table, proceeding to nearly throw up as he rushed to change Riley's diaper.
Once, Cory had literally thrown up in the middle of doing this, and every time since, he had tried to completely sterilize himself every time he had to change her.
This time, he survived, successfully strapping a fresh diaper around Riley before ripping off his gloves and running to watch his hands.