butt blind

Wyatt was thrilled to see those sisters again this past week at McDonald's Playland(yes, I said again this week). He was over the moon excited that (1) he knew they would play with him since they did the previous week and (2) that they were cute little girls that would play with him.

One of the sisters had an arm that was only a mere, maybe, 6 inches long, short enough that she wasn't able to use this arm at all, not that it mattered; she climbed the ladders and crawled through the tunnels faster than her sister (or Wyatt) could.

The first time Wyatt started playing with them, I sat there ears tuned in, waiting to see if he would say anything to her about her arm, not because he's rude, but because he's three; he doesn't have this politeness sensor. He's a curious kid, he likes to talk a lot, and well, like I said, he's three.

I waited in anticipation, ready to smooth out any awkward situation and then...

I waited more.

He never mentioned anything. Not even, as I expected, a little question or two on the way home, pondering his fun playtime from the back seat.

I was so proud of him: he has this natural blindness to something that was so obvious to me. What mother wouldn't be proud of her son in a moment like this?

So of course, yesterday morning, as I finally was able to squeeze into a pair of my own, pre-pregnancy/now I'm just fat jeans, what does my three year old, blind to differences, child say to me as I turn to switch on Team Umizoomi.

"Mommy, I can see your biggggg butt."