I thought I knew.

After nearly six months, I thought I knew all there was to know about baby poop.  My education on the subject began early on, when a particular projectile poop incident precipitated Robert's graduation from incubator to open air crib.  That day our nurse was the one (and only one) who had a vaguely bad attitude, and who, when she witnessed our little redecorating scheme declared, "Well I'm not cleaning that up.  Let's move him to a crib and see if he can maintain his body temperature."  Poop lesson one: it's OK to make on-the-fly, seemingly willy-nilly, trial-and-error decisions when it comes to infant medical care.

Well, last Wednesday we had a multi-sensory poop experience unlike anything I've seen before.  While I immediately got out my phone, took a picture of the wreckage, and sent it to my husband at work, I'll spare you the gory details.  But like so many aspects of baby care and motherhood, it just goes to show, the second you feel like you've "mastered" the twists and turns of this crazy carnival ride, BAM!  Everything changes.  And we haven't even started solids yet.