"Mommmm! Geez--I'm going to second base!"
Huh?
The above is what Soph yelled at me when I opened the door while she was going to the bathroom.
Apparently, she heard someone (probably her dad) talking figuratively about "first base" and "second base"--spun the idea through the crazy mess and marvel that is her 6 year old mind--added a little prior knowledge, and figured he must be talking about bathroom business. I guess it makes sense in a way--number one/first base, number two/second base.
So now, when we walk the dog, it's "Ew...Jimmy just went to first base on that mailbox."
I haven't set her straight yet. While I'm confident I could explain first base with no problem, bases 2, 3, and home plate are probably better covered sometime in the distant future--like at the 5th grade maturation program.
(Ok--maybe a little before that. Lord. I'm going to have to have the sex talk with my daughter some day. I wonder how that will go. Personally, I got most of my information from various Harlequin romances. As you can imagine, I was slightly disappointed when my first encounter was nothing like "Savage Thunder." Apparently he hadn't read the book.)
