There aren't many who can say they have had a seagull poo on their nose, yet it doesn't feel very lucky when you have to turn to your friends to ask them what the warm sensation on the end of your nose actually is.
This week I've been particularly lucky. While sitting in the garden, a swift, at least 50 or 60 feet in the air, managed to land one on my bare foot – at least this one had time to cool on its descent and was considerably smaller.
But luckiest of all was the projectile poo that shot from my son's bare botty as I changed his nappy. Having been left to look after him for a short while I had managed to cope with the feeding from a bottle of expressed milk, the burping ritual and keeping him entertained and was hoping mummy would be back before the nappy-change business.
Not so. George wanted his nappy changing and he wanted it doing now. So reluctantly daddy, having watched mummy do it many times, decided to give it a go. After all, after five minutes of yuk would come the joy of peace and quiet and a happy, little, not-so-red-faced baby.
George couldn't have picked his moment better – nappy off, mummy arriving home with grandma and grandad in tow and daddy holding baby's feet in the air.
Mummy took over the nappy changing while daddy went and changed himself and the grandparents chuckled away and archived their first anecdote for many future social occasions when they might feel it necessary to embarrass daddy or George.
Daddy doesn't mind though. After waiting for quite some time for George to come along, he feels very lucky indeed – perhaps George just wanted to emphasise the point.
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