Not the 11 year old type questions I am afraid are soon to be coming from my soon-to-be 11 year old.
The important kind.
The kind that prove, unequivocally, that boys go to Jupiter
to get more stupider because it’s not anywhere near the mall.
The kind a four year old baby genius asks because, seriously, girls are mysterious and weird and possibly creepy when you live in a house filled with Dudes and a mom who has officially banned you and everything you stand for from her bathroom.
As I entered mine recently, not to actually go, but to
hide simply put something away, aforementioned 4 year old was hot on my heels. As per usual.
Just as I turned to slam the door in his face and order him downstairs to busy himself with um, something nondeadly, he interrupts my random thoughts regarding the ratio of deadly to undeadly belongings I have in my home with a question: “Hey Mom, do girls poop?” he asks.
And, before I burst into a laughter so robust that it tested the limits of my had-three-babies bladder and threatened to make me a pee a little, I look at him and say, “Don’t be silly, of course girls don’t poop, at least not this girl.”
I could tell he believed me as he was stunned into silence. Something that never, ever happens when dealing with #3.
Don’t worry though, I fully intend to lay the yeah-chicks-poop-and-it-stinks-too-because-there-isn’t-one-on-this-planet-that-is-better-than-you-so-don’t-let-them-get-you-down speech on him by kindergarten.
Cause chicks are fast these days and I don’t want my my baby hurt.
But for now, the secret is safe with me, ladies.
Secret is safe with me.