Bottoms Up!

I may have had it coming.

Crouched over in a most unflattering position, tucking in sheets around an air mattress we were preparing for my mom's overnight visit, I'm sure there was no way of missing it.

But I was still unprepared when Taylor came around the corner and patted me on the hip.

"I love your big bottom, Mama," he said with a smile.

Now, I know that this was all innocently stated with no intention of offense, but I still wasn't quite certain how to take that little remark.  I whipped my head around to look at Bryson, who was looking at Taylor with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

"Taylor, that's really not a nice thing to say to someone,"  he exclaimed.
I could tell he was trying not to laugh as he said it.

Taylor was genuinely confused.
"What?"

"Ah... well, we just really don't need to talk about other people's bottoms," he continued.  "It's not very polite."

"Oh."    He thought about that new insight for just a moment.
And then he ran off, a new distraction catching his eye.


Later that evening after the kids were in bed, Bryson and I were lounging about, reading.  I looked over at him.

"So... do I really have a big bottom?"  I asked.  I was only half-joking.

He laughed, and then proceeded to give the correct response.

"No, you don't have a big bottom.  I suppose when compared to a five-year-old's bottom, then yes, it would be comparatively larger, but for you it is perfectly well-proportioned."

"Okay..."

"But, you know," he continued, "if you want to see something positive about it, he did say that he liked it."

Great.  Now I had Sir Mix-a-Lot lyrics involuntarily running through my head. 
But I suppose there are worse things...

After all, my little boy loves me just the way I am.
Big bottom and all.