Boys will be boys

Max is bending over Ben in this photo to tell him one important thing: "Good job!" That's because Ben let out a burp likely heard in Kathmandu, and Max thought it was rather stellar. He even tried to give him a high five, so impressed was he.

If you don't have a child with disability in your life, I'm here to once again fill you in on just how much like other kids they can be—in this case, the burp, fart and poop obsessions. Max is very amused by Ben's output, as is Dave. Yes, the menfolk in my life are all members of the Bodily Functions Celebrations Club, in which no burp goes unnoticed and no toot unmentioned. As you can imagine, this makes for one seriously elevated level of conversation around our home. 

When Dave is changing Ben's diaper, Max will find me to report on the size of the poop. "It's big!" he'll say, delightedly, throwing up his arms. "It stinks!" He regularly asks if, when he was a baby, he made big doodies because he knows the answer is a big "Yes!" He giggles when Ben belches. When Ben passes wind, Max says "Ewwww!" with a huge grin on his face. Sometimes I'm similarly surprised by the decibel of sound emanating from one little guy but there comes a point where you just don't want to talk about it again and again...unless you're Max and Dave.

Happily for me, Max enjoys blotting Ben's spit-up (not as copious as it once was but still regularly dribbling out of him). Just when I'm drowning in exasperation about having to change Ben's outfit once again and clean spit up off the couch/floor/rug, there's Max leaning over to dab Ben's face with a burp cloth and saying, "There you go!"

Meanwhile, we're still working on the whole "Excuse me" thing (with Max, that is). Because when he belches or farts and I prompt him "Max, what do you say?" he responds "Thank you!" then cracks up. He knows full well what's right, but he just wants to be a wise guy. Because boys will be boys, disability or not.