Conversation I had with the boy terrorist last night while he was doing "his business":
I'm not going to add his grunts into the conversation but while you read this keep in mind the whole conversation is peppered with grunts - it sounds like the kid is trying to shit a Cadillac.
J: Mooooommmm! Come here!
Me: What's up dude? Are you done? (I'm still the royal butt wiper)
J: No, I want you to talk to me
Me: (Standing just outside the cracked door) Ok what's up? What do you want to talk about?
J: No! Come in here and sit with me.
Me: Dude, no it stinks in there - you're pooping.
J: It's ok. Come watch me.
Me: No, sorry man that's gross.
J: Come watch the poop come out of my butt. (Looks at me like this is actually a plausible concept)
Me: That's disgusting Jaxon, you done yet?
J: No. Look, I poop like Capone. (The cat)
J: He makes turds too.
Me: Well yeah, but he shits in a box on the floor. (God I hope he doesn't get any ideas)
J: Hey can daddy buy me a gun
J: I need 3 army guns
Me: Ok I'll let him know. You planning a heist?
J: What's a heist? Can you bring me some Juice?
Me: Not while you're pooping. Are you done yet?
J: Yeah but I'm just resting now
Me: Ok well when you're good and rested call me and I'll come wipe your butt
J: Read me a book while I rest in here?
Me: I'm walking away now
J: Are you getting a book?
These are the conversations I have EVERY.NIGHT.
One of us needs meds.