HB was sitting on my lap today, having some morning nursings. He paused, leaned back a little, and stared at my right breast.
Mama: You like the milk?
HB gives Righty a poke.
Mama: Not for fingers.
HB, glaring, samples Lefty. Still glaring, but with a wicked glint of naughty, pokes Lefty.
Mama: Dude. Seriously. Nurse or get off me.
HB, pointing at Righty: Broken.
HB: Broken. (Points at Lefty.) Broken. Ahdone. (Climbs off my lap and runs away laughing.)
Nice. The child is barely over the 18 month mark and is telling me my girls are broken. With perfect enunciation and pronounciation and speeching skills. Well let me tell you something. And I know you are experiencing a full-on cringe here, from your forehead down to your toes, because you sense that I am about to Cross The Line, and to be honest, I am, too. So I will just skip to the punchline and say: THEY AREN'T BLOODY BROKEN, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. So there.