Posted by u/SirChunkTheUnyielding (3 y.o.)

So I (M3) was having a perfectly reasonable storytime moment. Mom—known in these parts as “The Narrator Lady with Snacks”—was reading “Goodnight Moon” for the 647th time because frankly, the moon deserves that kind of attention.

We were on the couch. Snuggled. Calm. Normal. UNTIL—I remembered I have elbows. Powerful, pointy, emotional weapons of toddlerdom. They are my truth. My currency. My punctuation.

So I did what any affectionate, boundary-challenged baby bro would do.
I dug.
Right into Mom’s rib.
Sharp, swift, like a love-powered can opener.

She gasped. Not in pain, but in spiritual awakening. I swear she said “OW” with a hint of joy.

She repositioned me. I repositioned her. It became a dance—her flinching, me adjusting with renewed elbow enthusiasm. Jack shouted, “James, you’re squishing her kidney!” which is confusing because I don’t know what that is but it sounds fun.

Pookie observed with one slow blink of judgment.

Mom said, “Buddy, gentle elbows.” But my elbows don’t know gentle. They are fierce. They are expressive. They communicate “I love you” and “Your spleen is now mine” simultaneously.

AITA for elbowing my way through bedtime stories and calling it closeness?