Yesterday Samuel learned to spit out food with the power and intensity of a llama. He propelled the purée an impressive distance across the kitchen and the spray achieved an excellent coverage of his Dad's outfit.
Spitting may not be one of the most desirable of baby milestones, but I still felt a little proud. That's my boy. However, given that we were due to visit Granny Pat's for lunch today, I also felt a little worried. Would he show us up? Would he fire his banana custard all over her pristine rug? Would we be able to show our faces in Horsham ever again?
As it turned out, Samuel behaved impeccably and had a great time at his granny's, playing with his new squeaky penguin and his jazzy little keyboard. I, on the other hand splattered fish pie all over my top, all down my jeans and all over Samuel's foot. I'm not sure how. And while we'd brought everything with us that Samuel could ever need in any eventuality, we hadn't put a change of clothes for mummy in the changing bag. It's a lesson learned.