Yesterday, on the changing table, an infant who shall remain nameless piped 3 kids-cones' worth of warm, baby-made soft-serve directly into my hand. In the moment, it was really upsetting.

As soon as twenty minutes later, I was looking back on the incident as a sweet and cherished memory.
"Hey," I said to him, tears rimming my crazy eyes, "remember that time you pooped in my hand for like five straight minutes? Wasn't that great?"
He just kept chewing on his squeaky duck and staring at my chest. He never wants to reminisce.