"Come sit down, Bubba, and let your food digest," I say, patting the sofa.
"But it huuuurrrtttsss," he groans, tugging at his belly and crawling into a ball in my lap, then unraveling again, stretching out his gangly legs, and flailing his arms."
"Maybe you need to go potty," I suggest.
"Uuuuggghhhhnnnnmmmmggg!!!!" he replies, standing, then sitting, then standing, then sitting, then sticking his right leg up into the air, then touching his toe with his finger, then flipping over spontaneously on the throw pillows.
"Maybe it's all that flip-flopping and squirreling around that's got your belly in knots, boy!" Mommy says.
And he looks right at her and says, "Nope, it was the food."
[That boy is just not right!!]