Our little boy keeps us in stitches daily. His curiosity is insatiable and his perspective on the world around him is doused in wonderful, wonderful, innocence. I look forward to more stories from my little boy and wonder what kind of insight his sister will share with us someday.
A few months ago my son became fascinated by my cellulite.
Shortly after a Sing, Sign Laugh and Learn session at the Edmonton Public Library my son traced his finger along the back of my left thigh as I stepped into the shower. “a bumpy road mommy?” he asked. One of his favourite lap bounces goes “A smooth road, a smooth road, a smooth road, a bumpy road, a bumpy road, a bumpy road, a rough road, a rough road, a rough road, hole!”
“Not quite honey. That’s mommy’s cellulite.”
“CELLULITE!!! Mommy’s cellulite?!”
“Yes honey, mommy’s cellulite.”
I’m glad someone’s excited for my bumpy roads!
Fast forward to this week when my son makes me the starring subject of our very own Usborn “That’s not my…” book. If you’re a parent, you’ve likely read one or a dozen of these; That’s Not My Frog, That’s Not My Dinosaur, That’s Not My Puppy and That’s Not My Monster are a few of the favourites in our household.
My son was sitting beside me as I read a trash article about a celebrity mom getting her pre-baby body back. My son asked me, as he is fond to do, “what’s that mommy?”
“Somebody’s mommy, baby.”
“That’s not my mommy” he said.
Later that day as we were getting ready for bed, he ran his hand over the back of my leg, “that’s my mommy, her legs are so bumpy.”