The Sunday morning conversation started thusly:
Isabella (she’s all of 6): Daddy, you have a flat butt.
It’s 8:30. On a Sunday. We’re off to a great start!
Me: I’m sorry. Did you say “flat” or “fat?” Why are we talking about this?
Iz: I said, a “flat” one. Very flat.
Me: Well, Honey. I don’t have a flat butt. Or a fat butt. I’m kind of in between. Trust me. I know. I study butts every single day. Just… Don’t tell Mommy.
Iz: Well, but…
Me: Haha! You said “Butt.”
Iz: No, Daddy. But… You looked horrible when you were 13.
Things take a turn for the worse.
Me: Thanks for reinforcing my childhood insecurities. Appreciate that.
Iz: And, 14 and 15 and 16. But, you look good now.
Me: Thank you for that. And, I will try to not foster your own negative body image issues when you’re 13 or 14 or 15 or 16. You’ll always be beautiful.
Iz: I don’t understand.
Me: I know.
Iz: You know who has a good butt?
Me: Well, like I said, I study them every day. So, I should know. And, yes she does. Just… Don’t tell Mommy…. Let me do that.