Blues
Seriously. Can’t get enough of those baby blues.
High five, James, our genes mixed rather delightfully on that front.
Seriously. Can’t get enough of those baby blues.
High five, James, our genes mixed rather delightfully on that front.
To break up some of the more serious conversation occurring on this blog of late, I thought I share yet another snippet of what pillow talk sounds like for me and James. Because who doesn’t find dialogue about poop funny?
Me: I find it sickeningly adorable that Sunny refers to her pee and poo as “peeps” and “poops.” “Mama, I need to poops!” Who knew making bodily functions plural would make them so endearing?
Him: Speaking of poops, you should have seen the coil she dropped in the woods yesterday.
Me: The coil she dropped? I… I don’t even know what to say about that phrase…
Him: Clearly, you did not grow up shitting in the woods with a bunch of boys.
Me: Dude, I went five days sans movement on my WOOLF trip (our outdoor orientation program during college). THAT’s how terrified I am of pooping in the woods.
Him: I’m going to glaze over how wildly unhealthy that is… It’s my mission that the girls know how to boldly poop in the woods. Sunny was a champion on Friday. I held her arms, she popped a squat, and built her mound.
Me: Built her mound? I just… wow.
Him: Unfortunately, the ground was only covered in dried, disintegrating leaves, so I carried her like a loaded gun, butt holstered under my armpit, back to the car to grab wipes from the diaper bag.
Me: That’s not the first time we’ve referred to her butt as a loaded gun.
Him: The metaphor clearly works for us.
I’ll be sure to pull this post out years from now at her high school graduation, or better yet, her wedding.
You’re welcome, sweetie.