Oh, No. Oh, HELL No.

The Wife warned me about it this morning, and it happened to me at lunch. Today was my first experience with The Spitter.

Yes, NJ has added another arrow to her quiver, alongside the adorable waving and clapping and tongue clicking and dog-adoring and learning to crawl and other current, cute-as-all-get-out interests. Today she spat out about half of her lunch. On the high chair tray, and on Dad Solo. On my glasses, face, beard, shirt, lunch, and even my iPhone, which was a good 18 inches away from her. Every third spoonful of pureed pears spewed back out, as regular as Old Faithful. To the right you'll see one of the tamer eruptions; that circle in the middle of the biggest pear blob? A fingerprint! Because of course you have play with it once you've spat it out.

After six or seven eruptions I pulled the pears away and gave her a cracker -- good luck making a spittable mess with that, NJ! (I shouldn't taunt her like that. She will do it.) After finishing that we went back to pears and her spitting zeal had subsided somewhat. And when it was all done, I had a quick word with her about why it was a bad idea, that she should eat that food instead of making a mess with it that Dad Solo has to clean up. I noticed her face was getting red, and then she started grunting. So I ended up cleaning another mess up, too.