The whining went on incessantly. All day.
Baby Boy: "My back huuuuuurtsssssss."
"Sorry about that, Buddy. Can you show me where?" As his hands reached around to every reachable posterior surface.
Jealous of his flexibility, I soon panicked that he might have meningitis and should be taking his complaints seriously. I ran to find him and take his temperature.
I found him in the bathroom rubbing his new Spiderman electric toothbrush haphazardly across his lower back.
(Yes, with toothpaste.)
I couldn't even begin to guess.
Apparently, upon purchase, Darling Husband had told him the spinning toothbrush resembled a back massager.
Not being quite sure the bristles hadn't come exceedingly close to his bum, I gave him a quick lesson in the finer points of finger-brushing.
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