Snips, Snails, Puppy Dog Tails? Really?

When I found out I was having a son, the old nursery rhyme went through my head:

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails
That’s what little boys are made of !”
What are little girls made of?
“Sugar and spice and all things nice
That’s what little girls are made of!”

Mother Goose lied. Boys ARE NOT made of snips and snails, and puppy dog tails. They are made of something more malodorous than a wet dog. Who am I kidding? It’s like a paper mill has come to town and I am constantly downwind. Gas. I am not talking about the kind of gas you fuel the car with, but with the kind that bubbles up deep inside you and either comes out of their mouth or is forcefully pushed out of the tiny heinies.

Farting and Burping. That’s what I’m talking about. Instead of “mommy, hold my hand“, I get “hey mom, pull my finger“, followed by a victory dance.

Yeah, that’s the sound of me rolling my eyes.

Where is the cute little boy who said “excuse me, I tooted” when he passed gas? He has decided it’s his moral imperative to make each “emission” more offensive than the last! There is the grunt, the “whew, that stinks” followed by the ever so courteous arm waving to make sure both eyes are red and burning when hit with his, and I quote, “wave of acidity”.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change him, but I do think putting him in a bubble might help from time to time.