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“Ouchy… Ouchy…” Max whined as he rooted around at his pants. My husband figured he was having some issues with his lil’ twig and berries; maybe his diaper was too tight.

He looked inside the front of his diaper to find this…A pterodactyl. Either he stuck it down there earlier, or our little dude was born with some really, really, REALLY old junk.

Maybe it’s a genetic thing. I’m pretty sure there’s been a Iguanodon or two in his mother’s* pants.

*That’s me, of course. It sounds less slutty when I refer to myself in the third person.

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