This morning, while it was still just the heat equivalent of being baked in an oven as opposed to being dropped in a Fry Daddy filled with boiling oil, Caroline and I went to the park.
She went down the slides and played on the various playscapes and then said, “Come on, Mama! Let’s go swing!”
I put her on one swing and I sat down on the swing next to her, even though I noticed it had a little dried bird poop on it. No big deal. I’m a gamer like that.
After a few minutes, she said, “Let’s switch swings, Mama!” So, we got off our respective swings and when she walked over to mine, she looked down and yelled, “OH MAMA! DID YOU POOP IN YOUR SWING?”
As if I’m her incontinent mother who makes a habit of pooping on playground equipment.