My pregnancy evoked an interesting development in our house today, one I guess that was to be expected but, at the same time, one that I was not really thinking I’d be exploring this particular Sunday.
Please to read my conversation with my son:
“Mummy? Is the baby in your tummy?”, Vince asked as he walked deliberately towards me.
“Yes Sweetie, the baby is in my tummy”, I responded absent-mindedly.
“Is it in your bottom tummy, here?” he asked as he patted my lower stomach area, “Or is it up here”, he continued as he patted higher up on my tummy.
“The baby is all in here, all around”, I responded, rubbing my belly in a circular motion. I was totally engrossed in rereading ‘The Host’ by Stephanie Meyer and not really paying much attention.
“If the baby is in here, then what is this Mummy?” Vince asked as he inquisitively patted my breasts.
Well, that got my attention. And I actually put down my nook. AND I made a face.
Because really, I had no idea where to go with this one. I glanced over at Edward, who was in the kitchen making some much needed coffee. He got in late last night and from the looks of it REALLY REALLY needed to drink that coffee before I involved him in anything like this.
While I was stalling, Vince kept going:
“What are they Mummy? Are they elephants?? Are they teddy bears? Are they giraffes?
Good lord, he thought he was funny. And I kept having to swipe little hands off my chest, where they were apparently planning on parking for the day.
I looked over at Edward: “A little help please?! What did you want to call these?
He mouthed “Fun bags” at me with a smirky grin. Ass. Clearly the coffee had done it’s trick. And clearly I was hitting this one solo.
“Well, they are Mummy’s… ahhh… boobies…”, I said with a wince. Saying that sentence out-loud made me feel like the lamest, oldest, lame-o ever in the history of lame. Geez-us. And while I was saying that word out-loud, I looked over at Edward who was making a disapproving face at me. He apparently did not approve of my word choice.
But that was ok, because V said “Your Boo-boos?” and I leapt on it like it was a raft and I was drowning.
“Yes!!! Booboos!” Probably I didn’t need to shout it so loudly. And then the moment passed, he stopped touching my chest and the morning progressed…
Holy touch and go Batman!
And I think we are going to leave them as ‘booboos’ for the time being. Easier, no? I am quite aware that this subject will come up again. Actually, I am surprised that this is the first time we’ve had to address it. I might need to get one of those age appropriate sex books. Or something. Gah. Can’t he stay ignorant forever? I don’t really need to tell him about this kind of stuff, right?
I think I’ll just sweep it under the rug for the time being… K? Shhh, don’t tell…