"The Gas Face"

My three-and-a-half-year-old niece is apparently entering the stage of life where potty humor finally becomes funny.

Welcome to the club, darlin'! At 30, I'm still waiting to grow out of that phase, so I'll bet your parents probably won't want you around me for a few years, especially given our own son's cognizance of the finer points of a well-timed poot — especially in bath water. His comic timing really is remarkable.

Tonight at dinner, Connor put his hand up to his nose after eating some cauliflower and deadpanned, "it smells like Daddy's toot."

"Oh really?" Stacey said, barely able to contain herself. "Does it smell good or bad?"

BAD!" Connor said, giggling. Noticing that we were hysterical, he continuted to tell us just how bad the cauliflower smelled...at least, I think he was talking about the vegetable on his plate.

As I sit writing this, I happend to glance over at the couch where Stacey and Connor are participating in the pre-bedtime ritual of a Baby Einstein video and a cup of soymilk. Since I have headphones on, Stacey pointed at Connor's posterior and mouthed "HE TOOTED."

I guess my niece won't be spending time around anyone in this house anytime soon.

By the way, you should be very proud of yourself. You've just spent five minutes reading an entry about nothing but flatulence, and I made sure to include as many visual aids as possible so that you couldn't hide this one from your co-workers, family or curious onlookers.

My mother must be very proud.