Thanks to my supreme parenting skills, my son now thinks he comes from a urinal.
I know.... I know....
I should have gotten a book to explain where babies come from but I thought…hey, I had a baby…I should be able to do this.
It’s not like I’m trying to explain how to change a tire or anything.
And plus, I thought pictures would be gross.
What I didn’t expect to encounter were the dodge balls of giggles, EWWWW’s, THAT'S DISGUSTING’s and THAT'S NOT WHAT I HEARD's I'd have to side swipe before getting in at least one coherent sentence.
What the hell were they talking about in the school hallways that sounded so much more glamorous than what I was putting down here?
Apparently, I’d shattered some pretty glitzy misconceptions of conception.
And in the end, I have a feeling that all my son got out of the whole damn thing is that mommy is a giant egg hatcher just like the Queen Alien and Daddy is the cool one with flying sperm.
Having to convince him that Daddy doesn’t really need a cape and a seat on the Justice League for this grand feat was a whole other conversation.
And I take umbrage (now there’s a word nobody gives a crap about anymore) to taking a back seat to flying sperm.
I want my cape dammit!
Pffft! …..Flying sperm
I hatch eggs!!
Oh well, at least I filled up his what-I-learned-over-my-summer-vacation-arsenal.
Think I’ll get letters home in September?