Playing Russian Roulette With A PeePee Gun

As most people know, little babies - and little baby boys in particular - have a remarkable knack for urinating when their lower extremities are exposed to the cooling air surrounding a change table. In my early days of motherhood (for I'm now a seasoned pro, of course), I would cautiously cover my boys with a modesty tissue or facecloth, or the clean diaper that I was in the process of applying. I was in fear of the fountains of pee that my mother, coworkers, aunts and even strangers had warned me about. Occasionally, one or both of my children would let out a little sigh and soak the new, clean diaper. On one particular occasion when I had let the protective cover slip, William very nearly got me in the face. Close, but no cigar.

But as the days passed, they seemed less inclined to pee au naturel. Being the precocious children that they are, they had clearly gathered that diapers are used in order to keep them, their clothes and their general surroundings dry. Clever children. And I, being their precocious mother, no longer felt the need to protect myself. The tissues and facecloths were no longer needed. These boys, with their love of being the proverbial jay-bird, were free to kick their legs and scootch their bottoms around and they revelled in it, as only 3 month olds can - they burbled and grunted and smiled and cooed. All was well with the world.

Until today. My reckless actions have cost me. As I cooed and gurgled at Owen on the change table, congratulating him on his two hour nap, I wondered aloud if he had a wet diaper. I proceeded to undo his diaper to check and as I reached into the top drawer of the change table to get a clean diaper, I felt something wet on my hand. "Its raining inside," I thought. "No. That doesn't make sense." I looked about to see what could be causing this dampness and saw my beloved Owen smiling for all he was worth and peeing for all he was worth to boot. I'd mocked the peepee gods for too long and now had paid the price. I was wet, he was wet, the change table was wet. The worst part is that I just stood there transfixed as he peed all everywhere. I could only muster a vaguely horrified "Oh!"

Sigh. I guess I've learned my lesson. Back to covering everyone up.

Onto other things - here are some pictures of my nearly-four-month-olds!

Nearly four months, but still love my cuddles with mummy.

Look Ma! I'm driving off in my bumbo!

Owen is cautious, just like his daddy - he likes to keep his hands inside the jumperoo, where its nice and safe.

But look at his twinkletoes go!