Duck and Roll

As I mentioned over at my place, my daughter has taken to rolling like, well, a baby takes to rolling. There are many consequences to this – some foreseeable, others tragically unavoidable and unforeseen. To avoid the foreseeable ones, furniture has been moved, baby gates installed and cats issued protective padding.

My daughter is also a nudist. Her mood can be terrible but take her clothes off and you have the happiest infant in the history of the world on your hands. Every night, before we put her to bed, we get her all naked, apply various lotions to keep her skin nice and soft, and let her play a little bit before getting her into her pajamas.

During yesterday evening’s bedtime preparations, this intersection between nudity and rolling caused events to unfold that struck fear into my very soul.

My daughter – my precious, beautiful and insanely cute daughter – rolled over, got her knees under her stomach, aimed her cute little ass directly at me and farted. Farted extravagantly. Farted with such force that, armed with the knowledge of events that usually coincide with or immediately follow such farting, I was forced to hit the deck. Duck and roll! Duck and roll! I sought partial shelter under the closest piece of furniture I could find – her crib.

Luckily for me, she was shooting blanks and I emerged unscathed. My wife, however, was highly entertained.  Yet another thing those parenting books never tell you about...