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Look at Mr. Boy — even in the midst of bad pictures, temper tantrums (oh, yes — we’ve started those already), he’s still about the cutest thing God and I ever made.
Hmmm, guess I should include Hubby in that statement; I suppose he did play some part in the creation of Mr. Boy.
Ugh, I digress.
I have a question for all of you: if you saw this adorable face in the grocery story, what would you say to his Mommy?
Would you talk about his bright blue eyes?
His scrumptious, chubby cheeks?
His cutesy-wootsey smile?
Or, would you start talking about your own pelvic bones?
YES! It happened. Yesterday — at our neighborhood grocery store.
Now, how am I supposed to respond to that type of statement?
She looked innocent enough: an older woman, with stringy white hair casually pulled back in a pony-tail. Her thick, black rimmed, round glasses were pushed tight against her face and, thanks to a STRONG prescription, her eyes looked enormous and watery.
(You know what I mean — we’ve all seen those older folks with those glasses and eyes. Shudder — those types of eyes used to scare me as a kid. I’m sure, just for that admittance, I’ll be there one day. . . sigh.)
The woman stopped me, in front of the bananas, to ask in a voice that was more than just a little too loud, “Hey, that red mark on your boy, what causes that? All my kids had that.”
Um, yeah, I was definitely taken aback by her question; I’m used to people talking about how cute my kids are . . . not pointing out flaws.
Stammering, I said something about “bruise. . . birthmark . . . just something that happens during the birthing process.”
The old woman nodded her head, pony tail sloppily flipping and and down in agreement with her. “Yeah. Guess so. Well, all of my kids had it. Guess I must have a high pelvic bone.”
With that, she left, and I was left speechless, standing like an idiot with a bunch of bananas in my hand.
Mr. Boy’s response?
A very loud, very wet raspberry.
Smart boy ; he knows when to show off his tricks.
