Something in the air

Petal and I are happily sitting on the couch together, while her baby brother plays at our feet.

"Poo-ey," screeches Petal all of a sudden. "What is that smell?"

I sniff the air but can't pick up on any bad odours.

Holding her nose and grimacing, Petal points to her brother. "I think he's got a poo in his nappy."

I dutifully check but it's all clear.

"Nope, nothing in there," I inform her.

Petal turns to me with her face still screwed up.

"Well Mum, it must be your breath."

Fishing around

Petal finds a box of tampons in my handbag.

"What are these called?" she asked.

Phew, at least she hasn't asked what they are for.

"They're called tampons."

"What do you do with them?"

Shit.

"Er, um, ladies put them somewhere," I answer, vaguely.

"In a pond?" she replies.

Huh? Does she think they resemble gold fish?

"Ah, not usually, why do you think that?" I'm baffled.

She gives me that 'you're so silly, Mum' look before answering.

"Because they are called tam-ponds."

Easy as 1, 2, 3...

I was mentioning to my husband how impressed our son's carers were that he could count to seven. He is only 22 months. I'm referring to my son, not my husband.

Petal overheard our conversation and challenged her baby brother.

"Can you count to five?" she asked him.

He dutifully started, "One, two, three, four, five, six..."

"You can't do it," she gloated. "I said five and you counted to six!"