My Daughter the Elephant

Just a little post I wrote about two years ago…and just found.

The other night I broke out the ol’ exercise ball, or as I like to call it, the Sphere-o-Death. I was on the floor, mid-crunch when in typical 4-year old fashion, Squishy came and sat on my stomach. In the sweetest voice she asked me, “What in the world are you doing, Mama?” I told her I was exercising so I could be pretty like her. Still sitting on my stomach she leans down and hugs me and says a sentence I’ll never forget. “But you’re already beautiful, Mama.”

I absolutely melted. I was ready to kiss her pink little cheeks and hug her tight and tell her I decided not to sell her to the circus after all.

Then she farted on me. Apparently she inherited my aversion to mushy moments, and things had become a little too sappy for her. I told her she stunk to the moon and back. She very solemnly informed me that the elephant in the corner (who, duh, is the one that really farted) was going to be angry with me for talking smack.

On the bright side, that circus check should be rolling in any day now.

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