We’ve already scarred my poor spawn for life by discussing his rampant flatulence, so I feel no shame in discussing it again. Because dear Andrew is determined to be the -est of everything, I shouldn’t be surprised that he is the most flatulent baby in the world.
His unending gas/frequent dirty diapers are thoroughly analyzed in the household by all present, including Mr. Aggie’s parents who are staying with us for the weekend. Behold a lovely utterance that occurred only moments ago:
Nana to Andrew, sweetly: “C’mon Andrew, get that out of your pants. Show Nana how you can poop.”
Who else but one’s Nana would encourage such unpleasantness? Who else would gladly change her fourteenth poop diaper? Those grandparents are something else, I tell you.