Farked Head - The Age of Grossness

Caution: This blog contains a lot of immature bathroom humor. If you are easily embarrassed or disgusted by this type of blog, you should keep on clicking past this. I promise that tomorrow's post will not be as bad.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's all cute until she does it in your face!

Z is going through a stage of self-discovery and awareness. She delights in the surprises that she can retrieve from her nose and the sounds and smells that her body makes. Her hands are constantly buried in her pants (front and back).

When she passes gas, she giggles and says, "I farked." Pronounced "Faaar-k-ed". It makes me laugh when says it, because it is just so wrong.

Lately, she will giggle, say that she "farked", and then instruct us to smell it. She thinks it is so funny.

She is greatly amused by her grossness (and our reactions to her grossness).

She rolls around naked, quite literally. If we are at home, she is probably naked. She loves to feel different fabrics, textures and temperatures on her skin. I spend most of my time at home with her begging her to "please put some clothes on for the LOVE of God." I am pretty sure that this just eggs her on.

In the bathroom, when she has finished doing her business, she will call me in to do the wiping (she hasn't figured that part out yet). Before I can do that, though, we have to decide whether she has just put an alligator or a snake in the toilet. Apparently, there are several intricacies in this determination: color, shape, size, thinness or thickness, length. If she is particularly proud of her accomplishment, Hubs is also called in for the consultation.

As we were leaving the grocery store the other day, I hear an unusually peculiar conversation:

"Daddy, I don't want you to call me Z anymore."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"My new name should be Farked Head."

"Um, no Z. I don't think that's a very good plan."

"But I love it, Daddy. Please call me Farked Head."

Until recently the Age of Grossness has not disturbed us very much, but now she can make spit bubbles on command. Nothing infuriates me (or hits those buttons for me) worse than the ever dreaded spit bubble. She also spits everywhere. No matter how much we punish her or threaten her, the spit continues. I think that she may be part camel (although a search through our lineages for our camel heritage have proven unfruitful).

I love my child to death, unfortunately I am certain that the spit bubble will be the end of me.

Note: I warned you, but you kept on reading. Any images that you may have previously had about our family are now covered in boogers, poo and spit and honestly, it's all your fault.