We had company over last weekend. They brought their baby with them... a cute six month old butter chunk. They plunked him down in his walker and my kids began surrounding him with toys, stuffed animals and other goodies.
The grownups began talking about whatever boring stuff grownups talk about. I glanced over to make sure my kids were not accidentally suffocating the baby with an overdose of love. He was fine and gnawing happily on Winnie the Pooh, the only toy that hadn't fallen out of his short reach.
About five seconds later I heard Tristan yell, "Mom, Baby Isaiah is eating his penis!"
The room, as you might imagine, went dead silent. My head whipped around and there was Winnie the Pooh on the walker tray with the baby gnawing happily in his crotch.
"Oh wow," said the mother sitting next to me.
I cleared my throat, my mind casting about for something appropriate to say. Rarely do I come up with the appropriate thing however.
"Tristan, he's a stuffed animal. He doesn't have a penis."
"Yes he dooz! Baby Isaiah is EATING his PENIS!"
I do know enough about my son to know that he gets loud and indignant and there was no good way to make this conversation disappear by reasoning it through. So I did what any sensible mother would do... Offered him some chocolate milk.
I've never seen a kid leave a room so fast.