Oh Crap, It's the Robert De Niro Face!

Via: Parade

As a young mother of 18 years old, I knew I had just about NOTHING figured out. So, looking back this really is not a big surprise, but it sure was back then.

My now 4-year-old daughter, Taylor, was about one month old and it was my birthday. My husband had come home from Army Reserves Drill and was sitting by me on the couch. I look up at him and suddenly smell this horrific odor, something akin to the scent of a decomposing skunk carcass on a hot Oklahoma highway.

"Ben!" I exclaim, "That is nasty as all get out, what in God's name did you eat for lunch!?" He looks at me puzzled and says that he has no idea what I'm talking about and that the ungodly smell was not coming from him.

Slowly, both of our faces fall and we look down at the horror of what must be happening. There is our month old baby making her Robert De Niro poop face while laying on my lap. We lock eyes and I hear him utter his go-to-phrase, "She's all yours, hon."

I wait a few minutes to make certain that she is finished (Because I know what I'm doing, remember?) and proceed to set out all the trappings of a diaper change.

I get it all set up and the diaper unstrapped with wipes ready and I see a flash of De Niro come across her face. "God, NO," I think, but it is too late. She lets one rip, and though I have wiped, I was not finished and her nasty, stinky, infant poo was flatulence-propelled straight into my face...and hair.

I. am. motionless. For just a moment, but that is all it takes for my husband to take one look at me and begin laughing so hard that he falls of of the couch. Does he help me? No. He doesn't offer to finish changing her so thet I can go clean the poo out of my hair, his mother did that.

"Ben has betrayed me," I think to myself. He simply continues laughing at me and follows me all the way to the bathroom to watch me wash out my hair. Which, apparently, is also hilarious.

After this incident, I still have never lived down that poo-spray, and he still reminds me of it each year on my birthday.


Rikki is a 22 year old living in Southwest Oklahoma who works at a psychiatric
hospital in Texas. In her spare time she is either chasing her teacup-humans (ages 2 and 4), reading novels, or writing down the comical events of the day so as not to forget them. (And maybe to use as ammo later.)