"Mommy, why aren't you squeamish?" An eight year old Dean asked.
"Where'd you learn that word?" Mary Winchester replied.
"A dictionary. So, why aren't you squeamish?" Dean said rather impatiently.
"Because," she wiped some mud off of his face, "I live with three very messy boys. Two of whom I changed their diapers."
"Ew, you changed Sammy's diaper?"
"Yup, and yours too."
"That's nasty! But, I still don't know why you aren't squeamish." A look of confusion was plastered on Dean's face.
"Trust me, cleaning up someone else's waste…it changes you." Mary had this faraway look on her face and then she shuddered and sent Dean off to go play with his brother.
A/N: Thanks for reading!