There are always certain dangers associated with teaching your children to do things like talk or open doors. I learned that painful lesson this morning.
Until recently, we'd been able to keep Ethan out of our bedroom using a doorknob cover. The subtle nuances of the imposing plastic had heretofore proved an impenetrable defense against the pint-sized marauder. He lacked the manual dexterity and hand span necessary to squeeze both sides and twist at the same time.
We thought ourselves safe. What fools we were!
I woke this morning about an hour before Ethan usually does and hopped in the shower, thinking nothing of the dangers lurking just outside. As soon as I turned the water off and pulled back the curtain, I heard it...
Now, I'm not a prude, nor am I ashamed of my body. Ethan has seen me without my clothes on a number of times before, just not since he's been able to voice his observations.
E: "Mom, what are those?"
Me: "What are what?"
E: "Those big things on your chest."
Me: "Those are called breasts."
Me: "Close enough."
E: "Wow, Mom! They're bee-yoo-ti-full!"
E: "You know what they look like?"
Me: "I'm afraid you're going to tell me."
E: "They look like...
like my backpack!"
E: "My backpack's beautiful, too."
I'm thinking moat.