AM: Sean, do you have poo poo pants?
AM: Are you sure, because I smell poo poo. Come here, let me check.
(Stands with his back to me and bends over slightly, a pose we call the check for poo-poo-pants stance, one I half way expect airline security personel to add to their arsenal of ways to humiliate the flying public in the coming year. I pull his diaper back to expose the cutest little plumbers crack ever.)
AM: Sure enough, no poo poo, but I smell something.
Sean: Must be you.