Milk & Slippers

Picture the scene; Mummy isn't home and Daddy has been spending quality time with his son overnight, alone for the first time. It's breakfast time and Daddy is being a little lazy and feeding Clayton his morning bottle whilst sitting on the edge of the bed. The feed was a success, the burping process was easy and then this happens...

Oh well, can't be helped. He's carefully aimed and filled my slipper with spewed milk, but at least it missed the carpet. Next step... Daddy showers in record time, leaving Clayton in a calm state of milk coma. I dress the little guy, singing to him as I go and scoop him up to carry him downstairs so that I can have my own breakfast. But barefoot? No. Summer is over now after all. Better put my slippers on. You can guess which earlier incident I forgot about? I hear a squelch and jump back out of the milk soaked footwear, making a "Eurgh!" noise, whilst still holding baby. Hopping around with Clayton in my arms and the sole of one foot coated in regurgitated milk. One of us saw the funny side. The other one struggled.