A day that will live in infamy.

Gaz has known the word "fart" for quite some time now. She knows (or at least has been exposed to) other kinder, gentler ways of expressing the same sentiment, but we all know which is the shortest road to the labeling of flatulence.

Today we had some tofu for lunch that maybe was a little closer to its expiration date than I thought, and I'm guessing that was what led to the musical afternoon and evening we had. But the real fun happened when, during naked time*, she was running around the dining room table, propelled by some vile posterior force, shouting to us "I farted! I farted! I farted!" Because you know the first time she made the declaration at all, she couldn't just stop with saying it once. I suppose it didn't help that she was repeatedly gassy as she ran around the table. She finished the display by running to leap onto the couch between Mark and me, holding her backside the whole time, rolling around in glee as she told us again for the 10th through 30th times that she "farted."

And since she was so insistent on letting us know about her wind issues, I felt it was my moral duty to let you all know that today Gaz farted. But she'll probably tell you all about it the next time you see her.

Also, she learned how to shoot herself in the face with breastmilk while trying to convince me that one breast was empty. It's been one of those days.

* Naked time is that period of time between when her diaper comes off and when bath time commences. The joys of running around diaperless for a few minutes in the evenings takes some of the sting out of the indignity of having her teeth brushed by mean old Mom.