Last night at the dinner table, in his highchair, Cary let out a long, sputtering fart.
It was so impressive, it stopped him from talking. (This is quite a feat.)
When it was finally over, he smiled and said, "A motorcyle! There's a motorcycle in my diaper!"
And then he and Dean both CRACKED up.
As a woman who is not a fan of flatulence, bodily fluids, blood, guts, gore or other grossness, I have to say I am not looking forward to the years and YEARS and YEARS I have left of this kind of thing.
(Even though I have to admit, I cracked up too! It really did sound like a motorcycle!)
1 comment:
My boys started called their *ahem* private part their "weenus." It cracks me up every time. When I was a nanny, the family I worked for called flatulence "shooting bunnies," as in "Who shot a bunny?" The 2-year-old boy went to preschool and would shout out, "I shot a bunny!" The teachers didn't a) Know what he was talking about or b) Know quite how to handle it. Too funny!
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