Because he runs away at top speeds when he sees the diaper coming, Baby Boy spends a lot of time out of breath and naked. So, it was bound to happen sooner or later: the poop on the floor.
What I didn't expect at 23-months old was Baby Boy to look right at me and blame it on the dog, then the cat, then his fire truck then on me.
"Really, Buddy? You're fire truck pooped on the expensive, pretty rug?"
He thought about that for a moment and then decided his stuffed lamb, Ba was most certainly to blame. And to drive his point home, he drove the small, button-eyed face directly into the mess.
Then to prove it wasn't him, the dog resentfully sniffed and peed on top of the proverbial poo sundae.
Ah, and it's only Tuesday.