Our bodies, Ourselves. (Little Dog style)

"Quit poking me," I finally complain as Little Dog mercilessly stabs his tiny finger into my breast.
"I squishing your boob," he explains.
"Great. Now stop it."
So he focuses on his own chest. "My boobs don't squish. Why my boobs don't squish?"
Ok, it was going to be one of these talks.
"Well, you don't have breasts like mommy. You're a boy. Boys don't have breasts."
"Yes I do!" he insists, lifting up his shirt. "I have boobs!" he says pointing to his nipples.
"Those are nipples."
"Ooh. Nipples." and a new fascination was born.

The next morning, Little Dog was upstairs with Mr. Dog and NE while I got dressed.
"I have nipples!" he exclaimed, once again hiking up his shirt.
To emphasise this point, he pokes his own nipples with his index fingers.
He paused, smiles and adds, "Ticklish nipples."