So the other night we were putting the finishing touches on Matthew's (# 2's) room, and Chris comes strolling (or toddling, as the case may be) in for a visit. We spent the appropriate amount of time cooing over him to assure him that he's not going to play second fiddle to the new baby or anything, when I suddenly felt an old familiar rumble. Leaning back and grinning like a lunatic, I launched a rather substantial fart. Holly was naturally disgusted by my ass blast, and turned up her nose in protest. Chris, on the other hand, found this to be hilarious and nearly fell over with laughter.
He stretched himself out face-down on the floor and, with a mighty arch of his tiny little back coupled with a Maria Sharapova-esque grunt, launched an equally impressive ringer of his own! Laughing hysterically, he looked over to me and said, "I toot, Daddy!"
For some reason, his fart was rather less irritating to Holly; she could barely hold herself up... Guess it's that whole maternal instinct thing. You know...it's cuter if it's coming out of something that you carried around for 9 months and whatnot.
Regardless, it was one heck of a proud parenting moment.
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