What was I thinking?

Baby loves his siblings. He watches their every move and laughs hysterically whenever Tweenie or Rascal does anything funny or naughty.

I suppose it was just a matter of time.

He's outgrown the baby bathtub and is thrilled to now be allowed to use the big tub with everyone else. The joy on his face is echoed by ear-piercing shrieks and frantic flailing with all four limbs in the water, drenching the entire room in Johnson&Johnson.

One problem with all of this is that our tub has a textured floor and the bathseat that I bought back when Tweenie was that age is made for a smooth surface. There is no way to use the seat reliably despite multiple attempts. Also, because of the aforementioned flailing, I can't really hold him safely and soap him up at the same time.

There really is only one solution, and that is for me to get in there with him. When Rascal saw this, he wanted in. Things started off pretty well. The two boys splashed each other and laughed; they splashed me and laughed harder, especially when I scowled at them. This continued for a few minutes.

Then Rascal upped the ante.

He farted a loud, smelly, bubbly fart (all the more so because of the soapy water). Baby stared, stunned for a moment. Then he shrieked with delight, and Rascal squeezed another one loose. Even I thought that was kind of humorous.

I was just about to put an end to the antics and finish up with our bath when Baby farted too. He had this look of concentration, and as soon as he felt success whooshing between his fat little legs, he looked over at Rascal for approval.

Rascal clapped and whooped with laughter. Baby giggled and then farted again. This time it wasn't just air.

I scrambled up onto my feet, holding Baby at arm's length.

"POOP! POOP!" yelled Rascal. "Yucky!"

They both giggled and snorted while I called for Husband to come help. When he arrived, he took stock of the situation.

"Well, what did you expect?"