There are certain things that moms of boys experience that I'm sure moms of girls don't. Case in point: yesterday morning.
I was in the bathroom, doing my business, when Munkin Man charged in.
"'cha doin', Mom?" he asked.
"Going to the bathroom, Munk."
At this point he squatted down next to my backside, pointed, and said, "Mommy, you pooping in the tunnel?"
"Buddy, please move back a little," I said in my sweetest I-will-stay-calm-about-this voice.
I finished up, flushed, and walked over to wash my hands, as Munkin Man dropped to the floor and let out a banshee scream. I sighed, and stood watching my sweet, precious little man throw a tantrum to end all tantrums. Knowing that anything I could say would inevitably prolong the tantrum, I walked out of the bathroom. A few minutes later, a snotty-faced Munkin found me in the kitchen, trying oh-so very hard not to cry.
"What was that all about, buddy?" I asked him.
Between sniffles he replied in a most pathetic voice, "Mommy, Munk wanna see da poop!"
And that, my friends, is what makes my life interesting.