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: Who?

Iz: Mommy.

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.