Pride and joy

At Oscar's first postnatal check-up, he did everything he could to make me look like a good mother. First he wouldn't wake up for his tests, so I had to do the usual undressing him and shaking him around. Then, as I removed his nappy for him to weighed, he proceeded to do an explosive poo accompanied by a garden hose pee all over the changing mat, the floor, my shoes and my already sweat and breastmilk-stained shirt. The nurse was not impressed.

He had already done this to me a few days earlier – after feeling confident that we had the bathtime routine down pat, we skyped Krusty's parents to let them watch from afar. Of course, the first thing Oscar did as we lowered him into the water, with a giant smile on his face: do a giant poo, so that we had to draw the bath all over again.

And each time he has done this (I still occasionally get peed on, as if he is aiming), he has done it with a giant smile. I think he's going to be a comedian.