Not pooped as in "tired." No, I mean, I'm pooped as in I'm "covered with poo." Don't worry, I washed my hands before I started typing on the computer.
It all happened this morning while I was changing my daughter's diaper. She was happy as can be when, all of a sudden, she gave me a look that was insanely cute but also instantly recognizable as the "Thar she blows!" look. I ducked for cover but I still managed to keep one hand on the baby, and that was all she needed for target practice. Soon her diaper, the changing table, the carpet and my hand had been fiercely dealt with by my daughter's laser beam butt cannon.
How great it must feel to shoot your own feces across the room at an incredible velocity. At least I know that her stomach and excretory functions are working correctly, and we also know that she's eating enough. That makes Da Da happy!
I've never been prouder as a parent.
The Existential Terror of Battle Royale
5 weeks ago