Sometimes, you just gotta do…what you gotta do…

That about sums this day up.

I’m going to think twice from now on, about sticking around to help my brother with the screaming monkey. Okay, so really, I usually stick around for awhile to help out, because I know he’s not 100% comfortable with watching her.

BUT. OH. MY. GOSH!

Tonight was just to funny not to post. Well it was funny in a baby poo sort of way. I should probably just warn anyone reading this to stop right now if you have aversions to reading about poo. This post is just going to go down hill from this point.

The night started out regular enough. Hanging out, drinking some Busch Light, waiting for Pizza Hut to deliver some wings and pizza and watching my niece bounce around in this deranged monkey bouncy chair she’s got. And at six months, the kid really gets after it. Seriously get’s after it in a whiplash, spastic, seizure sort of way. And I think she only likes one of the songs because she continually hits the same toy. Repeatedly. All while jumping around, giggling and frantically waving her arms. It’s a thing of beauty to watch. Ironic really that it’s in the shape of a monkey and we call her “The Monkey.”

Eventually, while watching this spectacle, a smell starts to permeate the air. You know; the one where you get a whiff every now and then and kind of start to wonder if your brother has cut cheese and is sitting there in his own stench waiting for you to say something. Mine usually has this obnoxious hyena laugh that accompanies the innocent look he gives you when you turn to him with a disgusted face. It’s gotta be a brother thing, right? Sisters don’t do this kinda stuff.

It’s not my brother.

He’s asking me if it was me, and of course we all know ladies don’t cut the cheese.

Both of us slowly look over at “The Monkey”, who’s quietly sitting in her bouncy chair, and looking at us with this bemused, questioning look.

And you know that moment when it hits. You know what I’m talking about. That moment when you realize that the smell is coming from something that bounces around in a deranged monkey chair and weighs sixteen pounds. Something that is so utterly cute, you can’t even begin to comprehend that a smell this awful is emitting from that.

It does.

And oh my gosh!

My brother instantly goes into the lurching, pre-vomit, hacking, creep to the bathroom after realizing the smell is from his kid. Of course the hacking only gets worse when he realizes the bouncing in the bouncy chair has compounded the problem and the diaper is seriously past the point of being effective, because it’s had a slight failure.

Up her back.

Literally.

One bath tub. One stinky, poo covered six month old. One near retching dad. One calmly cool aunt.

It’s a night of beauty I tell you.

If I had my good camera and could take a photo of her after bath curly haired smiling face, I’d have posted it for you all.

Have a fantastic weekend.

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