For the past couple of weeks, the kids and I have been daily (if not hourly) fans of the University of Nebraska egg cam. Last year, we were actually able to do the real thing but this year, after experiencing over 20 roosters at once, we decided to go the technological route with our hatching skills. We've seen ducks, chicks and most recently, turkeys, hatch on this dang camera. It's truly addicting to watch those little slimy creatures turn into adorable fuzz balls, right before your eyes.

Gun-Gun has also taken a notice to the egg cam and likes to sit on my lap and "ooh" and "aah" over the hatchlings. He loves looking at the eggs and will tell me how "twute" he thinks "dah baybee twickies" are - even if they haven't hatched yet. Because he's taken a notice, I've involved him in helping me collect the eggs that my chickens have finally decided to start laying. It took awhile, but we were able to talk the hens into laying their cackleberries in the nests we built for them, rather than letting them rip from the top of our screen door. Yep, I agree. Entirely disgusting. Hence the new nesting boxes.

Yesterday, Gun-Gun and I headed out for our daily Easter egg hunt and located three eggs. Gun-Gun took great interest in one of the goofy looking oblong eggs, and packed it around the house, patting in on the back as if it was his own baby. He walked around with it for quite awhile, telling it what a "twute baybee twicky" it was until I finally talked him into putting it in the fridge. It's seriously no fun to look for things he hides - as he does it so well. We only just recently found the one pound box of butter for the Christmas cookies.

Fast forward to today...C-dub wanted his Atkins diet of sausage and eggs and being the short order cook that I am I started to prepare the feast. Once the sausages were looking edible, I opened the fridge to prepare the scrambled eggs. Gun-Gun beat me into the fridge and grabbed his "baybee twicky," jabbering at it and patting it on the back of its eggy shell. Not thinking, I asked him for the egg and told him that he could help me mix up the eggs for breakfast. He said, "OK Mama!" and hopped up on the stool, ready to roll with the old fashioned egg beater in hand.

And then I did it. I cracked his baybee twicky open and he wasn't happy. "Mommmeee!!! My baybee twicky cwackeded up'd!"

Oh schat. I hadn't even thought of his emotional attachment to the baybee and now I was expecting him to mix it up and eat it. What sort of Mommazilla was I? Was I helping to create another Jeffrey Dahmer? Ack!

He quickly calmed down once he realized that no babybee twicky was hiding in the egg. He happily helped run the old fashioned egg beater and then helped to eat C-dub's breakfast - much to the dismay of C-dub ('cuz Gun-Gun has dah germs - at least according to C-dub).

Before you start lamenting over the fact that I'm destroying my child's ability to love and trust or that I've irreversibly damaged his little psyche, rest assured that he is absolutely fine. In fact, he helped me find three more eggs today and we were able to also watch another batch of baybee twickies hatch today on the egg cam. I'm sure he still thinks that every egg carries a chick and that all the eggs in our fridge are potentially ready to hatch, but I'm ok with that. It's actually pretty cute watching a two year old try to "burp" an egg.