naked dining

There's a reason I no longer keep Coop in clothes when it's time to dine. It's the same reason I should skip them, too, or don a plastic tarp ...

OK, "bubble boy" is totally cute on his own or when he's "chatting" with his daddy. But when you mix the forward thrusting of spit with oh, I don't know, semi-liquid green beans, applesauce, squash ... it's no longer cute.

It's eventually crusty. Like on my face. In my hair. On my clothes crusty.

When Coop first started using dinner time as spit time, Chris and I couldn't stop laughing (see below), especially when the contents of his mouth started to dribble down his chin. But now that the little turkey has realized that he's entertaining the masses with his projectile antics, he won't stop. It's time to introduce two things to dinner: the word "no!" and a face mask until the word "no!" illicites anything other than laughter. Sigh.