Some months back in a post about nursing, I mentioned how (perhaps overly) modest I am with my kids. I'll change clothes in front of them, but never to the buff. Even the baby. Yes, even with the baby.
Anyway, Poopy Pirate (who is three and still very poopy) wandered in my room yesterday while I was changing my shirt and pants. Here is the conversation, recorded here for your enjoyment and my posterity:
"What are those big things, Mommy?"
"What big things?" Mommy says in her most distracted voice, glancing around the room, trying to figure out what Pirate is looking at.
Pirate marches over to Mommy, reaches up and places his grubby patties on Mommy's breasts and says, "These big things."
I'll spare you the stammering that followed, but he was satisfied with my explanation. And I nursed my baby for SIX MONTHS. Did he really not have a question in all of that time? Scallywag wanted the biological run down of exactly how my body was making milk for Captain Tootypants.
Have I said before how much I love being surrounded by boys?