Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Stinky Skunk Monkeys

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Frogs and snails and puppy-dog’s tails,

That’s what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice and everything nice,

That’s what little girls are made of.*

Oh yes, we’ve all heard that rhyme many a time—oh blech—I hate it when I catch contagious Rhyme’s Disease. 

Let’s try that again. 

Most folks are familiar with that little nursery rhyme.  Lord knows it’s been used in playground taunts for time immemorial.  I’ve said it before and I will say it again:  Little boys and little girls are most definitely different, but...


As the mother of two little girls, I must regretfully inform my dear readers that little girls aren’t all sugar and spice and everything nice—not by a long shot.

Before we go’s the thing:  Some of my best friends are guys, so I’m not exactly shocked when conversation turns to bodily functions.  Also, at the risk of being redundant, I am a mother and I would be in seriously bad shape if I wasn’t used to Number 1 and Number 2.  Additionally, I once tried a case where my client’s credibility was questioned on the basis of whether or not he’d pooped his pants (as he maintained in the Complaint and subsequent discovery) or whether he’d tinkled in his pants (as he claimed during trial testimony).  That was an interesting closing argument.

No, when it comes down to it, my Baby Belles can be pretty cotton-picking gross.   In fact, I call them my Stinky Skunk Monkeys. 

Let’s start with burping.  Baby Belle 2 is a master.  On the plus side, she was super easy to burp when she was a baby.  Yep, she has a tremendous, echoing tenor that apparently only gets louder and deeper with age.  BB2 is also a performer.  Once she realized that she could get attention with her recital, she makes every effort to put on a show in public places.  Yes, it was particularly charming on Mother’s Day at the Country Club last year.  A unique way to honor her mother, to say the least.

I hate to say it, but Baby Belle 2’s belching ability is surpassed by the ability of her sister to pass truly noxious gas.  I’m not exaggerating:  I could loan her bottom to the United States Government for biological weapons research.  Scott and I have often discussed how such a horrible odor can emit from such a tiny and adorable little doll baby.  The only explanation we can come up with is that she is such a picky eater that her weird and limited diet is the culprit. 

As is the case with Baby Belle 2, Baby Belle 1 has become very proud of the fact that she can clear an entire room in seconds.  She likes to proclaim in her little singsong voice, “Excuse me, I tooted!”  Let me also assure you that my precious little thing issues her “apology” in the privacy of our home and in public forums.  The grocery store, church, school, parties—you name it and she has gas bombed it and bragged about it. 

The other problem with Baby Belle 1’s little singsong apology is that it has been picked up by Baby Belle 2.  Mind you, Baby Belle 2 hasn’t exactly associated the saying with her gassy moments—she likes to call attention to others.  I was wheeling her around in the cart at the grocery store and we passed by an older individual who apparently strained a touch much when he bent down for his Pecan Sandies.  Baby Belle 2 mimicked the voice of her sister and said, “Excuse me, you tooted!”

Every day is an adventure.

*Being a lawyer, I am hyper-aware of trademark infringement, plagiarism and all of the other crap that can get you kicked out of college.  Accordingly, I would normally attribute this poem to its author.  Unfortunately, the damned thing is so old that research has been unable to yield the name of said author.  Therefore, I think I shall credit Mother Goose.

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