Mommy's Poopy

Troy: “Dada?”
Me: “Yeah, bud?”
Troy: “You’re mommy’s poopy!”
Me: “No, I’m not! You’re mommy’s poopy!”
Troy [giggling uncontrollably]: “You’re mommy’s poopy!”

After five minutes of this back and forth, followed by five minutes of complete silence…

Troy: “You’re mommy’s poopy!”
Me: “Seriously? Again?”
Troy [giggling]: “Yep, because you’re mommy’s poopy.”
Me: “You’re mommy’s poopy!”

After five more minutes of this…

Troy [in a whisper]: “Dada, you’re mommy’s poopy!”
Me: …
Troy: “Did you hear me, dada?”
Me: “Yes, I heard you. I’m ignoring you, because you know you’re mommy’s poopy.”
Troy [giggling again]: “No, I’m not!”
Me: “You are. You are, you are, you are!”
Troy: “No! You are, you are, you are!”

After we walk into the house…

Troy: “Mama! Dada is mommy’s poopy!”
Me: “No I’m not, you are! If I get my shoes off before you, then you’re mommy’s poopy.”
Troy: “I’m going to beat you!”
Me: “Ha! I’ve already gotten my shoes off. That settles it. You’re mommy’s poopy.”
Troy: “Doesn’t matter. You’ll always be mommy’s poopy.”
My Wife: “Which one of you is the three-year old again?”