I spoke yesterday about chocolate fountains, and last night the inevitable happened.

As the father of a baby boy, there is one perpetual fear one has when changing diapers.

Every single time its like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. Charlie's little one eyed monster starting at you, mocking you, waiting for that open window to expel all over you and then laugh as you miserably end up somewhere public reeking of urine.

I'm pretty good about covering him up with a wipe or some other piece of cover to protect us both. Last night, however, I got lazy and complacent. And Charlie got hit in the face by friendly fire.

Guilt is a good motivator.