The first week: Day 7

Today's mission: Pooh... and poo.

Mission accomplished? "Oh bother," said Daddy as he beheld what his chirpy little girl had wrought on the change table: the nastiest diaper delivery I've seen thus far. Not the kind of nuclear nappy blast that makes people lose their airline tickets, but enough of a detonation to claim five wipes and the change-pad cover before order was restored.

The afternoon was more fun. We were playing with her Winnie the Pooh toy, which comes with a big plastic rattle. When baby shakes the rattle, Pooh responds by playing familiar melodies while waving his arms and scooting forward on his animatronic ass.

For a brief moment, it looked like she had figured out the whole cause-and-effect chain: she shakes rattle, rattle rattles, Pooh goes spasmodic. But the moment passed. It was the rattle she was interested in, and Pooh's antics were just pissing her off. Especially when he lurched into her arm and made her drop the rattle.

Things learned:

• Baby poop doesn't gross me out. Not now, not in any of its previous (and less smelly) forms when she was a newborn. And for that I am thankful.
• If baby poop grosses you out, feeding niblets to a kidlet is something you do at your own risk.
• The Pooh toy responds to more than just its rattle. Any other rattle—or anything that sounds remotely similar, from clapping to sharp laughter—will set the thing off. And here I thought that had ended when we packed up the Christmas-tree Clapper with the Christmas tree.