I need only type one little word and dozens of people will know exactly where this story is going. Everybody has been there at some point in time, some of you even recently.

The word: bath.

Know where we're going yet?

Just in case, allow me to set the scene.

I was in Alexis' room this afternoon doing a little cleaning of the new and improved saltwater aquarium (which, I'm proud to say, is about 90% mother trucking worm free--100% is an unattainable goal, so I can live with 90%). Daddy was giving Alexis a bath. He has been charged with bath time for many, many months now and it is a task he enjoys. Except, he's not very good at remembering to stay in the room with the Toddler that is immersed in water. It has a little something to do with the fact that she can play in the bath for hours and a lot something to do with his utter and complete lack of an attention span.

So, he wandered into Alexis' room to supervise my work. He was generally being a pest when I heard them.

The Noises.

You know . . . The Warning Sounds.

Mr. Husband has one of those Man Filters in between his ears and his brain, so I knew he didn't hear and/or recognize the sounds.

So, I said, "Aren't you supposed to be making sure Alexis doesn't drown herself?"

He muttered and made excuses and blah, blah, blahed. In the midst of his procrastinating I heard the confirmation.

"I pooped."

Mr. Husband didn't hear it.

He walked into the bathroom and tried to be slick, "Come here."

I responded, "I'm doing something."

"You need to see what your daughter is holding in her hand," he said.

"No, I really don't," I replied.

And that is how our streak of 2 years, 1 month, 29 days, 23 hours, and 17 minutes of poop-free baths came to an end.

(The photo is from three weeks ago. I wasn't about to go look at the scene in the bathroom, let alone photograph it!)