This past week we have been dealing with Molly’s incredibly upset stomach. Due to an unfortunate incident involving a 5 pound roast, Molly has proven that what goes in must surely come out. And she doesn’t really care WHERE it comes out. Most of the time she’s made it outside, but a few times she hasn’t. And that’s about all the detail I’m going to go into there (except to say I got a phone call from Chris last week as I was driving home that we may need to replace our rug. And all our new furniture. And the curtains.)
Anyway, when we have been cooing to Molly lately we have used the word “poopies.” Don’t judge us. Yes, we talk to our dogs in baby speak. And yes we sometimes talk about their bowel movements. But only when they are monumental in size. We’ve been calling her Poopie Head and Poopie Butt. And when she’s really not feeling good, Sweet Poopie Face.
So, this weekend we are sitting out on our back deck with some friends, enjoying a few adult beverages, listening to some music. In a lull in the conversation, Chris announces, very casually, very naturally,
“It smells like poopies out here.”
I swear I think our iPod skipped. There was dead silence. No one said anything, and the look on Chris’ face was awesome. You could see him thinking, “Wait, did I say that outloud?”
I busted out laughing – I mean I may have wet my pants.
Now, for better or worse, I married an all-boy boy. He’s a beer drinking, video game playing, metal welding, drill toting, (sometimes smelly) boy. And while I could never change him if I even wanted to (and I don’t!), it is nice to know that after 10 years, I can at least influence his vocabulary a bit!