So I'm sitting on the couch with Jack while Tom and I are watching Project Runway, when an overwhelmingly-awful smell fills my nostrils.
Me (in exasperation and disgust): "Is that YOU?!"
Tom: "What ..."
Me: "That smell. It smells like rotten eggs."
Tom (actually checking to see if it's him): "No ..."
Me: "Is it the litter box? I mean ... Wait a second ..."
I put my face to Jack's diaper.
Me: "Oh my gosh, it's JACK!"
I was in true disbelief. The boy channeled the gastrointestinal system of a beer-drinking, fast-food eating, middle-aged man. He is 11 weeks old.
He looked at me, grinned and cooed.
I fear for what the future holds.