Father Doesn't Know Best

The other day, while my wife was at work and I was home for the day, I decided to take my daughter out on the town for a daddy/daughter day. Before leaving the house I did what I thought was an acceptable job of dressing her in "girl clothes" with a pink and purple owl on her shirt, jeans, pink socks, and her flower headband.

Now, it should be noted that my daughter is about as bald as they come, and for the last six months she has had the same amount of blonde peach fuzz on her head as she did the day she was born. One of her cousins on the other hand was born with a full mop of brown hair, and at my daughter's age could already pull off the quintessential "whale spout" hairdo for babies.

My little baldie was not as lucky.

So, as the parents of most follicly-challenged baby girls will do, we won't let our daughter leave the house without some sort of headband or Velcro bow on her head.

After trying every headband on the market, and finding most of them to leave indentations on our daughter's head, we were happy to find a local mom-run business called Violets in Bloom that sells a mesh headband that doesn't leave any imprints on our daughter's skull and can be customized with interchangeable silk flowers and bows, to match any outfit.

(Note: This is not a paid review for Violets in Bloom, we were just so happy with their product that I wanted to give them some free publicity)

So, with a big pink flower on her headband, my daughter and I left the house for a story time at a local bookstore, and after a vehicular mishap that is the basis for another story entirely, we found ourselves waiting in the service center of the local auto dealership.

While I was standing in the waiting area of the service center, holding my daughter and fuming about my car, a woman walked up to me with her 14-month old granddaughter, looks at my daughter (who is still wearing a big pink flower on her head)and says, "Oh how cute! Is it a he or a she?"

Seriously?!

Maybe I was being overly sensitive because I was mad about my car, but I couldn't believe that someone had just questioned the gender of my daughter while she was wearing pink socks and bright pink flower on her head!

I know that the gender of bald babies can sometimes be ambiguous at best, especially before eyebrows and eyelashes start to grow, but that is why the parents of bald baby girls put bows and flowers on their heads and buy every pink accessory know to man, and our daughter was no different.

Sadly, that wasn't the first time that someone had questioned my daughter's gender.

On another occasion, while my wife was at the mall with our daughter, who was in her HOT PINK stroller and wearing a PINK DRESS with a FLOWER on her headband, a woman said to my wife, "It's a good thing she has all that pink, or people would think she was a boy."

Really?

I'm not sure what it is about a bald baby that makes everyone assume that they are a boy. As adults, are women the only gender with hair? It seems to be the same disposition that causes people to assume that other people's pets are boys without knowing.

At least with pets, a cursory glance can answer that question.

Whatever the root cause for people's gender confusion of bald babies is, it's probably a question that is better suited for someone with a more advanced degree than I have, and is well above my head.

For me, the short term answer is to stock up on pink baby accessories, clothes, and as many flowery headbands as I can get my hands on.

Does anybody know if they make Rogaine for babies?

After my inital foray into feeding my daughter solid foods, by introducing her to rice cereal (See "What A Mess"), I had eventually worked up enough "experience points" as a baby feeder to move on to some more traditional baby food, as opposed to the various glops that most babies first try (rice, oatmeal, and then barley cereals.)

Now, there are several theories out there about which foods to start a baby on, after the various cereals.

One theory is to start them out on fruits and sweet vegetables, like carrots or sweet potatoes, because the high sugar content will make them taste better to a baby's developing palate, resulting in them having a positive experience with the foods and being more willing to learn to eat.

Another theory is to start your baby on the more bitter green vegetables, like peas and green beans, assuming that if you start a baby on sweet foods they will be less likely to wlecome the bitterness of the green foods when being introduced to them later on when really want them to eat their vegetables.

And, since solid foods are meant as practice for now (since most babies will continue to get the bulk of their nutrients from mother's milk or formula until they are one year old) there is no need to teach the baby to "like" the foods yet, so there is no need to try fruits first, under the basis that they will like them better.

After some deliberation, and a consult with our pediatrician, we decideed to start our daughter on green veggies, and transistion into sweeter foods later. Although, I'm not sure how a baby could find any form of baby food to be appetizing.

So, when the big night came I set up the video camera and sat down next to my wife to record our daughter's first impression of a classic first baby food: green beans. Our daughter readily ate all of the veggies (I would imagine anything is better than rice mush) and the meal was a success.

A few days later I learned a new lesson in parenthood: green food = green poop.

It was an almost Newtonian principle which I hadn't considered. Opening my daughter up to new foods meant that she could "eat the rainbow", which, nutritionally speaking, is a great thing. I just never considered the fact that that meant she would also "deposit the rainbow" in her diapers a few days later.

Every few days we tried a new food, and every few days her poop was a shocking new color. My personal favorite was the "deposit" that she left after a meal of carrots.

To make matters worse, once you witness something like bright orange baby poop, you really start to notice the similarities in the look and consistency of baby food, both before and after consumption. There isn't a lot of difference between the two.

In one instance of feeding my daughter some freshly pureed peas (which smell so very delicious when warm) she pursed her lips and squeezed the contents of her mouth back out at me, and I couldn't help but picture the same scene going on behind her a few days from then.

And, the color of a baby's post-solid food poop isn't the only new thing going on in their diaper.

I'll give you hint as to what the other change is: Have you ever forgotten to run the garbage disposal in your sink after pushing fruits or vegetables down the drain, and then walked into your kitchen a day or two later to the smell of rotting food?

Imagine that smell, but about ten times more potent.

Changing my daughter's diapers, regardless of how messy, used to be one of my favorite pastimes with her, and I used to actually enjoy doing it (I know, I'm a freak) because it gave us a chance to play together and bond. Now, it's a mad dash to tear off her diaper, drop it in the Diaper Genie, and clean off any "remnants" before the smell starts to make my eyes burn!

Our decision to dress her as a skunk for Halloween was definitely well-grounded.

Stinky colorful diapers aside, I'm glad that my daughter is finally making strides toward being able to eat what I eat. (They grow up so fast! *sniff*) Besides, eventually she'll be potty trained and it will eventually be a non-issue.

They say the average baby will go through 10,000 diapers by the time they are fully potty trained. After six months, we've probably burnt through about 1,500 diapers, and maybe only 300 of those have been "dirty" ones, so out of the remaining 8,500 diapers to go I should only have to wear a gas mask for another 1,700 or so more diapers.

Bring 'em on.

Recently, my daughter started her journey into solid foods. I was excited for this gastronomic milestone because it meant that there was something new for us to do together, as well as training her for much better food to come.

But, just as you must learn to crawl before you can walk, must learn to eat muck before you eat filet mignon.

When I had envisioned my daughter's first foods in the past, I imagined pureed peas, carrots, and other such vegetables, which didn't sound very appetizing to me, but I knew it was a starting point. What I didn't know is that babies don't even get that lucky, as the most common first food is rice cereal. (And, not the kind with Snap, Crackle, and Pop!)

If you have ever watched any kind of futuristic science fiction movie and noticed that everyone is eating some sort of pale flavorless glop, what I believe they are eating is rice cereal. Rice cereal has the texture of wallpaper paste and the taste of, well nothing.

So, on the day we had decided to start our daughter on solid foods, I sat her up in the high chair that had been sitting in the kitchen since I had assembled it the day after the baby shower, strapped on a new bib, and got the video camera ready to film my wife feeding our baby her first solids.

The event went off easily enough, there was very little mess, and our daughter seemed to enjoy the experience (as much as one can enjoy eating paste.) So, for the next feeding I took a turn at it.

Bad idea.

It should be noted that I am barely capable of feeding myself in a cleanly manner. I don't have any neurological disorders that I know of (besides being a parent) but for some reason I am always the messiest person at the table. If we go out to dinner and everyone has a piece of bread before the meal, my entire corner of the table will end up covered in crumbs while everyone else's seats look as though they haven't had anything at all. As hard as I try, I can't not make a mess when I eat.

That fact would also pose a problem when attempting to feed my daughter for the first time.

As I sat down with rice cereal in hand, expecting to have the same clean experience that my wife had, I quickly realized that I was wrong in my assumption.

My daughter, who had sat perfectly still during my wife's turn at feeding her, decided that she now wanted to be more involved and "help" daddy by grabbing the spoon and guiding it to her mouth herself. Babies, however, don't have the best dexterity at six months, so her attempts to "help" resulted in her grabbing the "business end" of the spoon and getting rice cereal all over her hands.

Neat!

As I paused to grab a washcloth to clean my daughter's hand off, I failed to move the bowl of rice cereal far enough away from her so that she couldn't do what she did next, which was to drop her hands onto the side of the bowl, spilling half of the contents on the table part of the high chair.

At that point the flailing started.

Not only do babies not have a great amount of dexterity at six months, but they also don't have complete control of their limbs, or at least they pretend not to. As I started to attempt to clean up the mess that was now on the highchair, my daughter decided that she wanted to start moving her hands around in the general vicinity of her face, which resulted in her suddenly growing rice "eyebrows", rice "side burns", and my personal favorite: rice "nose plugs". (Which really shouldn't have quotation marks, because they did effectively act as nose plugs.)

Needless to say, it was quite a mess.

If there were a licence issued for feeding your children, I probably could have passed the written exam but I definitely would have failed the road test.

While there were many areas of my performance that went wrong, I think the one area that had the most impact on the mess that I had created was stopping to clean up my mess as I went along. Babies are surprisingly quick, and I think that if I had not given her that one second to drop her hands onto the side of the bowl, as I was trying to clean her hands, at least the bulk of the mess could have been avoided.

Luckily, after several practice sessions, I have been able to hone my skills as a solid food feeding machine, and can swiftly empty a bottle mashed green beans into my daughter's mouth within moments, with barely a drop on her bib.

Next stop: filet mignon! (Hey, a dad can dream can't he?)

The first time I looked at my daughter's big gummy grin, I knew that eventually I would have to watch her endure the pain of teething. However, I had always assumed that teething was a relatively simple process, and that if we just gave her a teething ring or something to chew on she would get over it painlessly.

If you are already a parent to a child with teeth, you can see the error in my logic.

Over the last few days, I have witnessed the reality of teething and all of the sleepless nights, screaming, and body fluids that accompany it.

My daughter started "sleeping through the night" (Meaning: sleeping for four to five hours in a stretch) by the time she was about three months old. In the months thereafter, her sleep cycles had gotten steadily longer, to the point that she was sleeping between ten and twelve hours each night.

With our daughter sleeping at least ten hours a night, my wife and I were finally able to catch up on our seemingly permanent sleep deficit and actually started feeling like regular human beings again. We even had enough free time at night to be able to watch TV again! A sense of balance had been restored in our house.

That balance was soon to be disrupted by one insidious incisor.

A few nights ago, one of our daughter's marathon nights of sleep was broken by a scream that sounded as if someone had just pinched her, and we both rushed into her room to investigate.

Upon our arrival, we found our daughter in her crib screaming her head off, for no apparent reason. My wife picked her up, checked an empty diaper and, without finding anything to be wrong, held her until she calmed down and put herself back to sleep.

We couldn't figure out what was wrong.

An hour later, that same scene repeated itself. And, again another hour after that. Plus, several more times until finally our alarm clock was telling us to get our sleep-deprived carcasses out of bed.

The next day, while trying to figure out what was causing our daughter to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, we noticed that she was trying even more vigorously that day to stick everything within reach into her mouth, so we decided that teething must be the culprit.

At least, knowing what the problem was, we could attempt to ease our daughter's discomfort. The next night, the same mid-night scream fest occurred again, but we were prepared with baby Tylenol and teething tablets (a holistic approach to teething, that can be purchased from most baby supply stores or Whole Foods).

Tylenol and teething tablets seemed to at least ease the pain somewhat and help our daughter sleep for four hours, until the Tylenol wore off, instead of waking up every hour. Knowing that teething can take a few days, we conceded to losing some sleep in an effort to keep our daughter comfortable.

And, then the drool started.

Babies seem to produce obscene amounts of drool in the first place (as is exhibited by the slimy "kisses" on most new parents' clothing) but when a baby is teething it's as if there is a broken faucet in their mouth. My daughter was no exception as a steady stream of drool seemed to flow forth from her gums at all times.

Luckily, drool is easy to counteract, and even though it meant several outfit changes per day (since my daughter seemed to be adept at soaking a shirt to the skin all the way down to her bellybutton, if left unattended) we were able to stay on top of it.

However, apparently her little body decided that she wasn't producing enough slimy substances, so the faucet in her nose broke as well.

I had read online that runny noses can often be associated with teething. What I didn't read was that it will cause your baby to blow snot "bubbles" when she breaths and shoot gobs of snot from her nose every time she sneezes which, oh by the way, is about as soon as you put away the "Boogie Wipes" (a helpful saline-soaked wipe which doesn't irritate baby's nose like tissues can.)

After a few sleepless nights, runny noses and other bodily fluids, and heartbreaking screams from my daughter, I ran my finger across her gums and felt the sharp poke of a tooth that had just cut through the gums. After fighting off a little tongue, that wanted nothing more than to expel the invaders in her mouth, my wife and I were finally able to see what all of the fuss was for.

I have to admit, it didn't really seem worth it.

After all that trouble and fussiness, all we got in return was a little sliver of white poking up through the gums! And we have to go through this how many more times?

In the end, I'm just glad that my daughter is comfortable again, because watching your child go through something so painful is truly heartbreaking. However, while it's tough to watch your baby experience something as awful as teething, I'm sure it will be well worth it, the first time we see her grin a grin of pearly whites.

This morning, as my daughter was giving me what I thought has a hug, only to discover that she had actually just wiped a huge mucousy booger on my shoulder, I realized that babies get away with a lot of things that we, as a society, consider to be embarassing, obnoxious, or just plain gross

For example, when my daughter was just a few weeks old, we went over to our friends' house for dinner, and we had placed our daughter in a bouncy seat while we were eating. As the adults were sitting around the table enjoying dinner, there was a momentary break in the conversation, which was immediately filled with a series of loud "noises" from my daughter's behind.

"PPPPBBBRRRRTTTT...PPBBRTT...ppbbrrtt...prt"

As we all turned around to look at my daughter, she had a look on her face that said, "What are you all looking at me for?"

At first I was a little embrassed at what she had done, but then I realized how funny it was that her "noise" was timed so perfectly with the break in the conversation, as well as her skill at being able to "hold a note" for so long, that I started laughing out loud, quickly joined by my wife and our friends.

"That's my little girl!" I proudly exclaimed.

If I had done the same thing, I would have had to leave immediatley in red-faced shame, and probably wouldn't be able bring myself to visit those particular friends for a very long time. When she did it, everyone thought it was adorable and funny.

Another activity that my daughter surprisingly gets away with is a new game that she developed called "I drop it, you pick it up". The basic premise of the game is that she drops things off of her highchair, and whoever is closest to her picks the items up and gives them back to her, and is rewarded with a big gummy smile. Fun!

My wife, who was once a preschool teacher and has actually taken early childhood development classes, told me that we aren't supposed to deny her the objects that's dropping or teach her to stop dropping them because that's one of the ways that she learns cause and effect.

Teaching her cause and effect is great, but isn't there a less obnoxious way for her to learn it?

Again, if any adult, or any grade school-age child for that matter, was repeatedly dropping everything that you handed to them just because they enjoyed watching you pick it up, the game wouldn't last very long at all. (Even the waitresses at Hooters will stop giving you the fork you keep dropping after a while.) However, when a baby does it, for some reason we find it adorable, and we keep playing for a chance to see that silly gummy grin again.

I have a theory about the young of most animals, including human babies, that their cuteness is a defense mechanism to make people want to care for them, or to keep them from being eaten.

If you are a pet owner, think about the day that you first brought your dog or cat home, when they were a puppy or kitten. Did they pee on your bed, chew on your couch, or eat your favorite shoes? (I've had new pets do all of the above) Afterwards, did you kick them out on the street, or forgive them and let them sleep on the bed again that night because when you were at your maddest, they cuddled up to you to show you how cute and sorry they were?

I'm assuming you chose the latter.

The same thing applies to babies, they're cuteness is how they get away with so much. There aren't many people that I would let wipe their snot on my shoulder, but how can I deny my adorable little girl the simple pleasure of using her dad as a Kleenex?

Even so, someday the cuteness will wear off, gas in public won't be funny, toys will have to be picked up by those who dropped them, and snotty noses will have to be blown into real tissues so why not enjoy every minute of embarrasing, obnoxious, disgusting cuteness while it lasts?

In parenting, there occasionally come times in which the comedy of a situation can't truly be appreciated by the participants of the situation until the heat of the moment has passed and the dust has settled on the scenario.

That was certainly the case when my daughter had her first "Level 3" blowout in public...very funny now, not so funny then.

But first, let me provide my definition of a blowout, in relation to a baby (not tires), and the arbitrary ranking system that I have created for them:

Blowout (noun) - The critical failure of a diaper, resulting in baby "bi-product" escaping from the containment area of the diaper. Can be broken down into three levels, based on intensity:

• Level 1 - Some "bi-product" outside of the diaper containment area, but not on the baby's clothing. Diaper change, but no outfit change required.


• Level 2 - More "bi-product" outside of the diaper containment area, some may have gotten on the baby's clothing, often restricted to the pants. Diaper and outfit change is required.


• Level 3 - "Bi-product" has made a full breach of the diaper containment area and has come into contact with all components of the baby's outfit. Often identified by the phrase "Holy god, it's everywhere!" Diaper and outfit must be thrown away and/or burned.

At this point, if you are already a parent, you are most likely thinking back to the first "Level 3" that you experienced and laughing about it, even though at the time it probably didn't seem very funny at all.

If you aren't already a parent, then I hope that by "pulling the curtain back" on one of the more disgusting experiences of parenthood, I haven't caused you to change your mind!

I'm not really sure what causes a blowout to occur, and why they can range in severity from a minor leak to an explosion of atomic proportions. The one thing that I do know, is that they can (and usually do) occur when you least expect them, and when you least want them too.

I experienced my first "Level 3" when my daughter was just six weeks old, on Mother's Day, while we were spending the day at a local strawberry festival with my wife's family. It was our FIRST outside activity since bringing our little one home.

My daughter had been sleeping in her stroller for the first couple hours of the day (gathering her strength for what she was about to unleash, I imagine), while we were walking around the county fairgrounds, where the festival was being held. After a quick stop for lunch, my wife and her sister went to have their palms read, leaving me with her parents and a stroller full of sleeping baby.

Of course, as soon as mommy walked away my daughter woke up, so I fumbled through the diaper bag to find her bottle, mixed some formula, and fed her. Once she was finished, I put her up to my shoulder and began burping her.

And, then it happened.

While I was burping my daughter, I heard some "rumblings" in her diaper, which wasn't uncommon, as my daughter has no shame and seems to enjoy making her bodily functions as loud as possible, so I thought nothing of them...

...until I noticed that the back of her shirt felt wet.

I flipped my daughter around to see the huge, wet, brown streak which was soaking through the back of her shirt, almost to her neck, as well as the "overflow" which had started running down the top of her shorts.

My wife was still getting her palm read, and was nowhere to be seen. Lucky me.

I must have gone into a state of shock, because I certainly wasn't in my right mind when I ripped open the diaper bag to find our travel changing pad and started setting up everything I needed to change my daughter under a nearby tree, as opposed to looking for the nearest bathroom, which was about twenty feet away.

To compound the issue, after I stripped my daughter down on the grass, put her on the changing pad, and got her diaper off she began to pee (When it rains it pours, right?) so I grabbed a blanket to finish the job on, since my changing pad was now wet.

My daughter, through this whole process, seemed to be enjoying herself. While she was still too young to laugh, I'm pretty sure that she was taking great pleasure in the situation.

Luckily, my mother-in-law was there to help me out, and after half a box of wipes, two diapers, and bath in hand sanitizer (for me) the job was done. My wife walked up to us shortly thereafter, oblivious to the scene that she had just missed. (Happy Mother's Day, Honey!)

Needless to say, it was quite the experience for our first outing as a family.

At the time, "The Blowout" (what I lovingly refer to this infamous story as) was a horribly stressful experience, and yet now it's one of my favorite stories to tell. And, while my daughter may have thought that the trouble she put her dad through on that day was funny at the time, I'm sure I'll be having the last laugh when she finds out that I just told that story to the world!

When I was a kid, like most kids, I didn't think my parents were very cool. In fact, the younger version of myself probably would have told you that my dad was the "lamer of two evils". Yet, I could never really pinpoint a reason as to why I had determined that my dad wasn't cool.

Now, I realize that I was that reason.

Over the last few months, of my inaugural year of parenthood, I've learned many lessons about being a parent that weren't covered in any book that I've read. However, my most recent parental epiphany has been this:

"Being cool" in front of your kids is pretty damn-near impossible.

The problem, from what i can gather, isn't a lack of trying to "be cool" in front of my child (I certainly had visions of being the "cool dad" in the eyes of my daughter and her friends), it's that babies have rapidly changing fancies and short attention spans, and "being cool" just isn't entertaining enough for them.

For example, I love watching my daughter smile, so I'll do whatever I can to see that sweet face light up with her huge gummy grin. In weeks past, I used to be able to earn a smile from her just by walking into the room and making eye contact with her. A few weeks ago, it started to seem like the novelty of my presence alone had worn off.

At that point, I learned that opening my eyes wide, and giving her a clownishly huge grin was what earned me a smile. After a week, the novelty of that had worn off too. Now, it takes all of the above, PLUS a silly pose or dance to get the same reaction that my presence alone used to garner just a few weeks ago. Next week, I'm sure a smile will require sparklers and moon-walking.

I feel the coolness being sucked out of me by the minute; a sacrifice for the sake of a happy baby.

Likewise, previous efforts to sooth my fussy daughter used to involve simply picking her up, putting a pacifier in her mouth, and giving her her "Lovie" (A small blanket with the disembodied head of an animal on it; a little creepy, and a terrible lesson in anatomy, if you ask me.)

But, that's old news now.

Currently, the way to sooth our savage beast is by singing, and not just any song either. The ONLY songs that will work now are "Five Green And Speckled Frogs" and "Five Little Monkeys, Swinging In A Tree".

They sound like cool songs, don't they?

For those that may not know either of these songs, I will do my best to record them here:

In the world of comedy, bathroom humor and bodily function noises are the lowest of the low-brow jokes, often reserved as a backup plan for unsuccessful stand-up comedians. The result of using a bathroom joke is typically a cheap laugh and an even cheaper feeling.

The reason for the failure of bathroom humor, in adult audiences, is that it's too basic. It's comedy used in playgrounds across the country, to get elementary school children to giggle. Personally, I think I stopped laughing at fart noises some time after the fourth grade.

That is, until I became a parent.

I don't think I've laughed harder in the last six months, since the arrival of my daughter, than when laughing at the various "body music" that she makes. Babies have no shame and no concept of manners, and I think that's what makes the sporadic ill-timed flatulence or belch so darn funny.

For example, my wife and I exposed our daughter to bottle feedings at an early age so she wouldn't have a problem with them when she was older, and so I could get a chance to feed her occasionally. After one of the first times that I got a chance to give my daughter a bottle, I also got to practice burping her for the first time.

After nearly ten minutes of patting every inch of her back at varying intervals (searching for the magical "burp button") I was about to give up, when I picked her up to my face and started to say, "Well, it looks like you don't have any burps..."

However, that sentence was never completed, because before I could say the word "burp" my daughter let loose a belch that was loud enough and long enough to rival a middle-aged male trucker, AND because of her proximity to my face, I could actually feel the breeze she was producing, which carried upon it the scent that breast milk makes when it meets stomach acid.

And, it was hilarious.

She had burped in my face, and all I could do was laugh hysterically. I actually had to hand her over to my wife, because I was laughing so hard that I didn't think it was safe to continue holding her. She's a baby, what else could I do? There was no point in getting angry or disgusted, so I laughed.

On another occasion, I had gotten up with my wife for a late-night/early-morning, to keep her company (read: sleep) on the couch while she nursed the baby. Since I lack the necessary equipment for breastfeeding, I usually tried to at least help out by changing my daughter's diaper before my wife fed her.

On this particular night/morning, as soon as I opened my daughter's diaper, she let out what I can only describe as a "sneeze" from her butt, which resulted in a spray of liquid poop getting on everything south of the changing table, including her crib, Diaper Genie, and walls. (Yes, the walls!)

I practically fell over laughing.

In fact, I was so busy laughing at my daughter's "talent" that I almost forgot to close her diaper back up before "round two".

After she was done, I changed her diaper, handed her off to my wife, and spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up the "splatter paint" my daughter had chosen to decorate her walls with, laughing especially hard when I would find a new spot in a hard-to-reach location.

Based on my daughter's gaseous abilities, my wife and I thought it only fitting that this year, for our daughter's first Halloween, she go dressed as a skunk. In fact, the picture at the top of this post is the exact costume that we got for her. It's actually called the Lil' Stinker.

So, while I don't think all bathroom humor and bodily functions are funny any more, I will continue to, for now, find the humor in a long audible fart from my daughter, during a break in the conversation at dinnertime.

Besides, all of these stories will be great for "embarrassing story time" when she's a teenager.