This is a magical age, this three-and-a-half business. I'm having such delightful conversations with the twins. (whenever the girls aren't sassing me or bossing everybody around the house) They can tell me how they feel, what they want to eat, if they are having fun or not. It's kinda great!
Sometimes things come up that I'm not ready for, though. Like the day they started to poke the flabby lumpiness on my chest and ask, "Mama! What's that in your shirt?!"
My answer? Boobs. (I dunno, I was a deer in headlights. So I said boobs)
Soooo... onto this morning. The morning is going well! The ideal of an ordinary morning, after feeding the baby, and setting the girls up with some cereal, I was hanging around on the internet in my pj's. I got up and took a big stretch, arms stretched mightily to the sky. Ready to go upstairs, get dressed, and start the day off proper. That's when one of the girls exclaimed:
"Be careful, Mama! Don't break your boobs!"
I almost died laughing.