Warning: This post contains gratuitous baby swooning and poop.

Josephine is three weeks old today. I held her last night, her butt on my chest and my hands under her arms, while I spun slowly around the room. I named this hold the "Requiem for a Dream", but that was a bit morbid. Jason dubbed it "The Aronofsky". I had just changed her. As I rolled around the room I made up a little song:

someone pooped her pants
it didn't smell too bad
when momma saw what had occurred
she yelled downstairs for dad.

I leaned my head back and let out a long raspberry at the end of the verse. She smiled. She hadn't really smiled or laughed yet. She had, up to this point, managed to produce goofy contortions of the mouth and face, but only expressions that would briefly resemble a smile. I tooted again, and this time she smiled, and then laughed. I tooted. She laughed again. My heart swelled three sizes.

When that video ended I half expected the Land of the Lost intro...or at least a "Hey Kool-Aid" commercial...