Last night I was lying on the carpet, mostly to stretch out, but partly to get away from the feet wrestling between Captain Sparrow and Miss Thatcher. Lady Liberty saw her chance to get some snuggle time and joined me on the floor. She was warm and cuddly, and I lay there quietly, basking in the glow of motherhood.
After a few minutes she got bored and rolled over so that she was now lying perpendicular to me and started kneading my butt with her feet (I get no respect). The kneading quickly turned to kicking, at which time that sweet little angel face said to me, "Mommy, your butt has a lot of meat".
There you have it. A lot of meat. In my butt.
I should have sent her to her room to bask in the glow of don't-ever-mention-the-size-of-your-mother's-heiney-again, but I couldn't stop laughing long enough to tell her off.
And really, when it comes right down to it, she's right. There's some junk in the trunk to be sure!