The Battle Royal

Historically, Dean has always been squicked out by pregnant women. One of the things I've struggled with is helping him get over that aversion when it comes to his own wife, but we've both been amused at how strange pregnancy can be on a body, especially when Bunky does things like distend my abdomen lopsidedly or send out a series of kicks and jabs that makes my whole stomach look like an alien is about to explode out of it. His response to this, and some of my descriptions of odd internal sensations, is always "gross." It's a private joke between us, but since Elder Son has moved back in, there's a lot less privacy in general. So as I was telling Dean I had a new idea for a blog tagline, the following exchange happened:

Me: "A teen, a tween, and a bean."
Dean: Gross.
Me: Damn, I was hoping for a "laf." Also, Elder Son has taken to saying "gross" any time I mention anything having to do with the baby. Be careful what you model. :)
Dean: chuckly chuckly chuckchuck chuck ------ Damn. [pause] Babies are gross, though ;)
Me: Great thing to teach his big brother. I'm calling him on it, and can't very well call him on it if you continue to do it around him, even joking.
Dean: Can I say "ew"?
Me: *facepalm