Big Boy Mitchell: Carseat Chaos

Ryan grabbed Mitchell like a sack of potatoes, wrestling him into the carseat with maximum force. Mitchell's oversized headphones wobbled, threatening to escape with each rough movement.

Book open. Check.
Music blasting. Check.
Serious big boy face. DOUBLE CHECK.

Ryan yanked the straps, pulling them tight through Mitchell's pamper. "Sit still, bro," he growled, each tug creating a wedgie that would make grown men weep.

Mitchell was COMMITTED to being a big boy. But commitment has its limits.

A rumble deep in his gut. A build-up of toddler terror. Mitchell's face transformed into the most RIDICULOUS concentration face imaginable. Eyes squinted. Cheeks puffed. Lips pursed.

BRRRAAAAPPPPP!

The fart erupted like a tiny tornado of pure toddler chaos.

But wait. This was just the warm-up.

Mitchell's face scrunched. His body tensed. And then - OH YEAH - he dropped the MOTHER OF ALL TODDLER DUMPS into his pamper. We're talking maximum destruction. A load so epic it could've been classified as a biohazard.

The pamper sagged. The carseat groaned under the weight.

Mitchell, in a move of pure toddler genius, leaned forward. Sniffed. His face - a masterpiece of pure, unadulterated satisfaction. The smell? Absolutely DEVASTATING.

His eyes went WIDE. His mouth made this perfect little "O" shape - the universal expression of pure toddler triumph.

The headphones wobbled. The book forgotten. Mitchell just sat there, strapped in, basking in his own glorious destruction.

"ZOO TIME, LITTLE DUDE!" Ryan shouted, slapping the headrest.

Big boy status: LEGENDARY.

Stay wild, little dude.