My sweet five-year-old baby boy.
My adorable brown-eyed, long-lashed, dimpled baby boy.
This sweet, cute, lovable, cuddly baby boy has a favorite word.
Actually, a favorite subject.
Apparently, any business (in a five-year-old mind) that goes on in the “unmentionable” area is fair game for conversation. Now, don’t get me wrong, some potty-humor is funny. The first thousand times. You can only hear a farting sound so many times before it makes you want to strangle the sweet little face that’s making it. At first, it was just replacing strategic words in conversation.
Like “Mommy, can I have hotdog and a butt for lunch?”
Or in commercials for the auto parts store on the radio, “O, o, o, o’reilly…auto-farts”
But – no pun intended – you know it’s getting out of hand when he tells perfect strangers, “Wanna see my butt –while sticking it out to them?” or “You have a big, fat butt –insert fart sound.” or ” I had butt for lunch” and finally “I wanna marry your butt.” That last one he told my best friend, Amy, who was really no help in the matter since she was telling him how her butt was cuter than his butt and laughing hysterically as he made all his fake (and real) fart sounds. Thanks, dearie…paybacks are hell.
I have tried to replace some words like, booty for butt, toot for fart and private for pee-pee and just plain outlawing diarrhea. Except when he refers to Diarrhea of a Wimpy Kid, that one I just can seem to correct. Oh well. He gets it honest.
Only 2 1/2 months until Kindergarten.
My apologies in advance.