"That's my girl!"

We are intensely proud of our little girl.  Of course, at this point, there is very little that we can be proud of, because it's not like she does a whole lot.  She eats, sleeps, poops, and stares up at us with this "I cannot believe that of all the parents in the world, I got stuck with these two bozos" look, right before she launches into what we call "Very Angry Baby."

"Very Angry Baby" is a performance art piece involving red face, arched back, and an enviable lung capacity.

But while other people are impressed with the Spawn's full head of hair (it's straight like mine, but dark blond, like the DB's) and strong neck muscles (all the better to head-bang into the soft and bouncy boobies, my dear), we are a impressed by something slightly different.

I'm proud to say, my girl can burp like her mother.

It's an impressive, full-bellied belch that rips forth from her tiny body like an angry volcano demanding a virgin sacrifice.

BUUUUURP-ARUUGHA!

"That's my girl!" I proudly proclaim, much to the DB's disgust (he's grossed out by burps and has spent the last 8 years unsuccessfully trying to get me to tone it down).  "Better up than down," I tell him.  But it seems he disagrees.  Surprisingly, because I never knew he felt this way, the DB is far more proud of her farts.  The more explosive, reverberating, and involving poop, the better.

Last week, while I was attempting to bathe a Very Angry Baby, she managed to shoot poop out of her little bottom a full 30 centimeters across the bathroom floor to nail my leg, and the DB was ecstatic.  "That's my girl!" he crowed.

And when I was changing her just the other day and she managed to get me IN THE FACE, his glee and pride could not have been bigger.

So imagine my satisfaction this weekend when, after her bath, she got the DB well and good, with a force and quantity so strong that it not only covered his pants, it soaked though to his underwear.  He stripped and finished dressing the Spawn before bringing her to me for the reloading refilling feeding.

AG: Oh my!
DB: *hands the babe over* ???
AG: Did you forget something when you got dressed today?
DB: *looks down* ???
AG: Didn't you have pants on earlier today?  And you know, underwear?
DB: *sighs* She got me.
AG: *laughs so hard it's difficult to keep the boob in the baby*

A day later she tried to get him again.  He's learned a trick, though.  It's grab the baby's arms and get her to sit up, so the firing mechanism butt is pointed down.  So the next day, she tried to surprise him by letting rip not once, but multiple times during the change.  The DB went through a stack of clothes and cloth diapers (which we use to cover the changing pad for this very reason).  But he remained poop free. Much to the Spawn's dismay.

The DB remains proud, however, of his daughter's achievements.

I only hope he stays this proud when we get to potty-training.