The morning commute

This morning, as I was driving to The Boy’s school, I heard a faint but familiar sound coming from the back seat.

I glanced at him in my mirror and saw that his face was red and his eyes tearing. “C___,” I said, “are you pooping?”

“Uh-uh,” was his reply.

“Are you sure? Mommy thinks you’re pooping.”

He scowled at me and pointed forward.

“Drive!”

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