I Was A Turd

“Dad, where did I come from?” I asked. I was four years old.

He paused and looked at the air for a moment, then told me that one day he had been on the toilet and when he got up and was about to flush, he saw something in the water. “What’s this??” he exclaimed as he reached in and pulled me out—a fresh new baby covered in poop. “Then I washed you off and decided to keep you!”

I furrowed my brow, pondering this strange miracle. Dad chuckled.

What was he chuckling about?