Barak, after five straight days of going to bed in the same clean dry underwear he started the day in, had a couple of, ah, accidents today. Wet, not dirty, but still. After the second pair went in the laundry I reached for a diaper.
"I needa underwear."
"No, sweetie, I'm not going to give you underwear if you're going to pish in it. You can wear underwear tomorrow."
Later, in the kitchen:
"If I pish in my diaper I getta pullup."
"No, sweetie. Pullups are just for trips." (Pullups are, in my opinion, no different from diapers. He had them, though, when he went to Tanta Sara's for the week with Abba--I didn't want Tanta Sara to have to deal with more potty intervention than absolutely necessary.)
"If I pish inna Pullup just getta rash. Get ice cream inna cone. Then ca' have a Pullup..." Barak meandered on in one of his monologues for a while, and I lost him completely. Then he stopped.
"Does that make sense?"
"No, sweetie, I don't think that made any sense." I couldn't help it. I giggled. So did he.
"I don't make any sense!" he crowed, and ran off into the living room to tell Abba. "I don't make any sense..."