So what do you get when you cross a Maerlowe in the shower, a Huckle who's shoved his hand down his throat "because he's sleepy," and a missed appointment for a bikini wax?
Yup, questions about pubic hair!
At Huckle's nap time today, I read him a book, scratched his back, and snuggled him up. He promptly stuck his nose in my armpit and said, "Peee-Yooo, you're stinky, Mommy."
Yeah, I was. He beat me waking up this morning, so I hadn't made it into the shower yet. I asked him if he'd be okay falling asleep by himself, he said yes, so I went off to my bathroom.
A few minutes later and with a headful of shampoo, I heard yelling from the other side of the door. "Mommy, I'm DIRTY!"
That is never a good sign. Water off, hunt for towel...
"How are you dirty?"
"With the brown stuff in my bed!"
"Where did it come from?"
"My mouth and it was nasty!"
Great. "Did it come out of your mouth?"
Find a towel, cover up, open door. "How did it happen?"
"I spilled it when I put my hand in my mouth."
He's covered in semi-digested raisin, broccoli, grilled cheese, and milk. There is a trail of semi-digested raisin, broccoli, grilled cheese, and milk as far behind him as I can see. I put him in the shower, told him to take his clothes off, hunted for a bathing suit for myself and for him, stripped the bed, picked up the solids from the carpet, sprayed the stains with pre-treater, put on my swimsuit, noted the "underbrush" but decided Huckster was getting a shower anyhow, since I wasn't about to make Vomit Soup in the tub.
I helped him into a swimsuit, too, and turned on the water. Turns out he's a bit phobic of the shower. Didn't like it at all. Ran face first into the glass wall. Stunned him a bit. Gave me time to soap him up without his wiggling.
Rinsed him off in spite of his protests, then told him to stay where he was while I got the shampoo out of my own hair, then told him many many times how much I like showers while I conditioned my hair. I thought he was starting to buy it, but instead, "How come you have hair there?" and a swift grab to my ladybits.
My turn to be a little stunned, no? I told him that when you grow up and get older, you start to grow hair in different places than before. Safe, maybe?
Not so much.
For the last half hour, he's either been saying, "I'm old, I have hair on my peepee," or "Show me your front butt hair!" or "Can I pet you?"
Maybe he'll forget after his nap. Nap time, take two.
For the love of pancakes.