Poor Daddy

One day, not long after Johnny was born, Dave gently cooed to the hungry, crying baby, "Don't get mad.  Get Even."  Johnny got even with him yesterday afternoon.  

Daddy laid him on the changing table after hearing and feeling the telltale need to put on a new diaper.  I'm sure the usual warning of "no funny stuff" escaped his lips before he exposed the little bum, thinking back to all the times he's been the victim of John's version of the Bellagio Casino's famous water fountains (sans music and light show).  As Dave was reaching for a new diaper, John made "the face" and showed Daddy what projectile pooping is like.  Dave said he went for distance, hitting the shelves at the end of the table (which is pretty long).  Poop was everywhere.

Johnny smiled.

I was up at the school, talking to Henry's teacher while he gave Grandma and Grandpa Q the grand tour of his classroom.  We got home to a sheepish looking Dave, explaining that there had been an incident and he relishes the times he's only been peed on.  Oh, to be a fly on the wall.