No Ninjas Here

So I've gotten pretty good at changing diapers. I don't mean to brag, but... well, yes, I do. For a guy who hadn't ever changed a diaper before Saturday, I'm pretty dang good. After all, I do have the coolest first-time dad toolkit ever.

This morning, I was kind of in the mood to show off those mad skills. Kind of like when you're standing at the top of that double-black ski run and say, "why not?" Anyway, after waking us up to eat about 27 times last night, Allison needed changing, and Kristin sleepily started to roll out of bed.

"No, let me," I said.

And yes, I was aware of what a model husband that would make me look like, but mostly I was looking to show off my cool (and by cool, I mean totally sweet) ninja diaper changing skills. I was already mentally working out the wording of a Twitter post alerting my fan base of my mad skills.

Like me, my brother-in-law Eric's first diaper changing experience will be with his kid. He's still trying to find a way to avoid it, I think, and I wish him luck with that. :) Eric's a NASCAR fan, so to make this dirty job a bit more fun, we've decided to add a little competitive element to it and see who can do it in the least amount of time - like a pit crew. Like a pit crew, quality matters. The wheels have to stay on, so to speak, but time is the key measure.

This morning, I was feeling it. I was in the zone. Eric would have his work cut out for him.

Everything was going perfectly. With one hand holding her feet out of the way, I used my other to expertly clean Allison off, leaving the older diaper underneath her as a precaution against "aftershocks." Still working with one hand, I whipped the fresh diaper out and shook it to unfold it, with a flourish for my sleepy wife, who was by now amused with my bravado.

As I lifted Allison's hind end off the changing table to slide the new diaper underneath her, everything went terribly wrong.

Out of nowhere (well, that's not true - it was pretty clear where it came from) a mustard-yellow stream shot out, arching over the side of the changing table, and covering the side of the bed. Kristin quickly jumped out of bed to come help clean up the mess while I turned back to take a second run, with a new respect for the dangerous end of my little girl. I pulled the not-so-fresh diaper out from under her and lifted her a second time to put a new one under her (you see where this is going). Allison fired a second perfectly-timed volley, this one covering my dear wife's pajamas.

Pride apparently still goeth before a fall.

So the moral of the story. As with gun safety, so with a baby's bottom: don't point it at anything you don't intend to shoot.