Mortification, Thy Name is Motherhood

Speak No Evil

Lincoln is in love with rhyme.  He loves to hear rhymes & more & more, he loves to create rhymes. He doesn't feel constrained to keep himself to real words.  He just likes to throw out rhyming words & syllables with nonsensical abandon.  He gets the biggest kick out of it.  I exploit his love, using it as a way to fill time while waiting in line or in the car.

Today, we were at the doctor's office for his three year check up.  Given that it has suddenly become winter, we were bundled to the hilt to get here & there.  After his appointment, we were standing by the reception desk getting ready to brave the cold & Link says "Let's rhyme!  Gut!  Butt!" 

At that point, I decided to gloss over his minor infraction & see if we could just move on.  As I fought to get a squirmy baby into her coat, I absent mindedly said, "What other 'ut' words do you know?"

"Slut!"

I stole a quick look at the receptionist to confirm that she was shaking...with laughter or with rage, I'm not sure.  For my part, I was trying really hard NOT to visibly laugh as doing so would surely guarantee that his made-up word would become a permanent fixture in his schtick.  He should probably trust his comedic instincts--nothing kills like a three year old calling his mother a slut at the pediatrician's office.