What the hell are you saying?

It is here. We have gotten to that stage; the one everyone dreads. The embarrassing-statement-stage that makes you look like you are letting your kid listen to hardcore rap and watch The Sopranos instead of The Wiggles. All I can do is think, "Where is he learning this stuff?"

We've moved on from the original "Ga-dannit" stage and now we are onto more bratty phrases like "Go way Mama!" Ugh. Where does he learn it?

Yesterday Mason was in the tub playing with his zillion bath toys when he picked up his blue rubber ducky, squeezed it and said, "look! ducky's peein'" at the water steaming out of the hole in the bottom.

Of course it isn't all bad, just most of it. With the bad comes the good too. He talks all the time about his "frens". We have all turned into Masons friends lately. Even the dog is a "fren".

There is also the funny as heck stuff. Like when my sexy husband walks around shirtless and Mason can't help but point to his chest and say, "Dada's milky!". We also can't help but laugh at the kids impeccable hearing. The kid can pick out the tiniest flatulence from a mile away. Apparently we all have distinct sounding ones too because the kid is rarely wrong when he points out, "Dada fart!" or even on the very rare occation, "Mama fart!"

So until this tell-all stage passes, you can find me at home reciting bible verses out loud and listening to classical music. Oh, and I'll probably have gas pains from holding in a tad bit of pregnant gas.