My following entry has been spell-checked and edited by Charlie.

Vincent is now two months old! He is definitely more awake these days. It's like a whole New little man. Some days I'll get the "sure mom, I'll be fine here in my bouncy seat for a couple hours." Other days I'll get the foreign exchange student trying to tell me he has gas. I sometimes beat myself up wondering what I can do better to make him more comfortable and occupied ie: does he need more interaction with the Baby Einstein toys? will the absence of flash cards be detrimental to his development? should I tell him he has a huge boogie in his nose?

After several random events, we have now graduated Vincent to the anti-gas bottles. The ones with several interlocking gadgets that "reduce colic" for the baby but increase frustration for the parents. I gave a lengthy presentation on the plans and procedures for implementing the new bottle-washing-steps to a very tired Edwin yesterday. I felt the same has he: "but why can't we just use the same one's we've been using?" ------------ Well,.....

It was Wednesday night - my long-time friends Brent and Cori came over to meet Vincent. Vincent seemed more fussy than usual and I was trying to figure out how to sooth him. He was straining and wriggling to the point his face turned red. I held him until he started dozing and as I was placing him in his bouncy seat, I looked down and wondered why there was poo on his sock (that must of been a funny angle of release). I then realize the mother of all poo-thrus had happened. Poo on his sock, poo on my shirt, poo on the blanket, poo on his leg, poo on my leg - it was a poo-free-for-all. It appeared that the amount of gas Vincent was trying to "expel" had created a volcano-like reaction in his diaper.

Later in the evening, as Brent and I were saying our good-byes at the front door, I hear a low grumble behind me followed by a "clap, clap, splat!" and Edwin's voice, "Oh Jeezus". Vincent had spit-up "exorcist-like" all over Edwin and onto the hallway floor. I felt bad for Edwin but was entertained by Vincent's post-spit-up reaction. He didn't cry afterwards - he just stared at us like, "Really? You didn't see that coming?" with milk dribbling down his nostrils and onto his chin. Short of giving him a Beano and promising he'll never have to eat broccoli, I decided to switch his bottles.

Since we've upgraded to the new bottles, Vincent doesn't strain as much and the spit-ups have lessened.

Kid tested - mother approved.