It's a Conspiracy.

******** WARNING... This blog post contains graphic information regarding baby poo... if you find this type of information offensive, I suggest you go find something else to read. You obviously don't have kids either. Or a backbone... ******************


Yep, she's out to get me. Yes, my lovely little girl. That sweet precious baby, Lily. She's not working alone either, I believe that my wife (who I love and adore) and my dearest daughter are conspiring against me.

You might ask "Matthew, how could you say such a thing??". Well, I'm going to go over the events of this morning (which is more or less a typical morning) and you can decide.

Lily does not yet sleep through the night. I don't expect her to by any means. She's still very young and the thought of those two big juicy steaks that mommy carries around on the front of her chest is a little tempting for young lily to resist for too long a period of time. As a result, my dearest wife (whom I love and adore) feeds young lily.

After my dear Lily is well fed and in that calm, relaxed, near catatonic state that only warm milk and boobies can provide; it is time to wake her up and change her diaper.

At this point, I am probably still asleep, enjoying some of that exceptional 3-6 am REM sleep that the doctors on the internet say is the best thing since sliced bread.

Until the jab. And not one jab, several jabs. Please don't confuse this with a "honey, wake up", or a gentle shaking, or even a nice poke.. No, this is the Two-fingered jab of death, right to the rib-cage. The kind that you would get from the bully in middle-school.

After singing my new favorite tune: "ow ow ow.. okay I'm awake". I drag myself out of the warm bed to change Lily.

Now, let's stop and try to look at this whole incident from Lily's perspective.

It's the middle of the night.
It's nice and dark, you've got a belly full of warm milk. You're asleep, and a huge, groggy, hairy dude, picks you up, places you on a hard changing mattress, points a bright light at you, removes your clothes from the waist down and begins to rub your nether-regions with slightly less than warm wet paper towels.

Not a good thing. And being a guy and at work all day, I'm not nearly as good at this as her mother (who I love and adore) is.

You could understand the whole process is slightly traumatic to our poor Lily. But she doesn't get mad, she gets even. No, she doesn't bust out with the "Two-fingered jab of death". She doesn't even throw up on me or scream her head off. Nope. It's poopin' time.


She opens fire. Remember when the Death Star blew up Alderan? Just like that, only with Poo. This particular morning, she shot a stream of liquid green poo about 3 feet. (I did warn you).

Now, I went James' entire "diaper years" without being pooped on once, but my dear Lily hits me about 3 days a week. I try to be quick, but I believe she holds it up until she feels that cold air on her hind quarters before she opens fire on me.

So, I'm aggravated, there's liquid green poo all over me and all over everything in the 'line of fire' I manage to hand (now smiling and clean) baby Lily over to my dear wife (who I love and adore). As I walk out of the room to get myself cleaned up I hear in her best 'googly voice': "It aggrivates your daddy sooo much when you do that.. Yes it does.. It does sweet little girl."

Yep... They're out to get me..

I just know it.