Big Bottom Momma

Many things change when you become a parent. Perceived sleep needs. What you'll eat off the floor. (It's only been there a couple minutes, what.) Modesty. (Try getting a toddler peeled out of a wet swim diaper and changing out of your swimming suit in a cubicle the size of a matchbox without having your rear end flashing about for the world to see) Personal hygiene. Body shape. Basic definitions of what constitutes a "Clean House."

And perhaps, most importantly, your own sense of self-importance in the overall shaping of the universe.

Which leads us to the end of my shower and the subsequent clothing ritual, which has included Espen in some way since he was born.

Mostly, he chatters about getting down the "Rune blankie" and pushing around tarot cards on the floor while I select my garments du jour.

Not so, this fine morning.

The crowd has grown for this particular dressing. Tobias is lounging around on the bed making casual comments about this and that. Espen is staring at me intently.

Check that, he is staring at PART of me intently. As if drawing conclusions of some kind.

He speaks.

"Momma. You have a BIG bottom!" he cheerfully proclaims.

I mean, ok. Yes. After an entire lifetime of coming to terms with my, shall we call it, voluptuous derriere, I have found some measure of harmony between reality and acceptance. Which was lucky for me because there it was, in all its truthful candor, ushering forth from the mouth of my babe.

So I laughed. Just buck naked, big bottomed laughter. Tobias howled.
But part of me wanted to know. Was it my personal truth or was it a size/ratio thing?

"Espen, what kind of bottom does daddy have?"

Espen wandered over to Tobias.

"Daddy, stand up. Show me your bottom."

Espen whipped off his underwear to display the view he required.

Tobi politely declined due to our imminent departure.

Espen cocked his head, mentally undressing his dad. And spoke again.

"You have a big bottom too, Daddy."

And all I could think was, "Yessssssssssss."