We went into town today to see Ky’s old work, and when we arrived, Occi had done a remarkably creamy turd. The combination of the roadtrip, introduction to solids, and a three-day brew made it particularly pongy.
We (almost) came prepared; and car boots really do make great change tables in a rush. Sadly, we only brought one outfit which sadly got a dash of the Coleman Mustard, but again, nothing a pub bathroom sink and air dryer can’t fix when combined with a touch of inventiveness.
We thought the shit was literally and metaphorically behind us, until on the way home from the event Occi decided to go full meltdown. We tried everything, from songs, to feeding, to moving to the backseat, to wild dancing. None of it worked.
Turns out that losing what felt like 1/3 of your body weight in Coogee Bay Icecream doesn’t prevent you for going back for seconds a few hours later.
A lesson learned.