Houston, We Have A Problem

lily1.jpgRemember that whole control thing I was talking about a while back?  I hope I didn’t give the impression that I actually think I can be in control of everything at all times, and I think I made that pretty clear with the poop story contained within that post.  But just in case you didn’t quite get me…

 Yesterday Jen and Lily made a visit to my work.  There are about 160 people in my office and about 145 of those are women, so I am constantly getting asked about the baby, and to show pictures of the baby, and when is the baby going to come for a visit.  Lily turned two months old on Tuesday and is out and about quite a bit, so we figured this was as good a time as any to expose her to the baby crazed masses.  The girls arrived in the middle of the afternoon and I sent an eMail out announcing Lily’s appearance in the lunch room for the next several minutes (no autograph requests, please).  It didn’t take long for the crowds to gather.  They oohed and ahhed over her beautiful face and several made comments admiring her perfectly round head.  Things were going well.

After the excitement had calmed down, Lily decided it was time for lunch.  The three of us went into my office so Jen could feed her a bottle.  Part way into the feeding, Jen lifted Lily up on her knee to burp her and the gas did indeed escape, only not from the intended end.  At least that’s what we thought.  While I had been the victim of the previous blowout, I was fortunate that Lily was wearing a footed sleeper at the time so the hazardous material was pretty well contained.  Jen had no such luck.  The olive drab milkshake had found an escape route down Lily’s pant legs and ended up on Jen’s jeans, not to mention all over Lily.  Dealing with these explosions at home is one thing, but when you’re away from base camp they take on a whole other dimension.  Fortunately Jen had packed the diaper bag with all the back up essentials:  extra diapers, extra clothes, extra blankets, extra plastic bags to put the extra nasty clothes in, extra everything.  Except for extra pants for herself.  We got Lily reasonably cleaned up and dressed in unnastified clothes, but the best Jen could do was use a few wet wipes to clean up the chunks and then drive home with some newly green striped dungarees.

So, as you can see, I’m totally in control.

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5 thoughts on “Houston, We Have A Problem

  1. kludge

    sigh… I understand, and feel for you. I feel most days I would rather face a rabid pack of dogs armed only with a toothbrush, then deal with a baby blowout.

    It’s just like…well the ultimate terror for me.

    Yeah, its pretty gross. I look at that picture I’ve got up for this post and think, “How can something so angelic produce something so very vile?”

  2. Jeff

    So did you and Jen simply clone Anna?

    Lol. Pretty much. I think she looks a lot like Anna too (that’s my younger sister, for those not in the know). I’ll have to post some comparison pictures.

  3. Rebecca

    That story is hilarious. They never tell you to pack a set of clothes for the mom! I’ve had my shirt peed on, pants blown out on. Yeah, it isn’t fun. But did I ever learn to pack clothes for me, nah, you just figure it can’t happen again! :)

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