The Girl was in the bathroom today with me as I put a panty liner in my underwear. She wanted to know what it was for so I explained that it was to keep blood from getting all over my clothes and quickly reviewed what I have already told her about blood being a part of how babies are made. (I’m getting really tired of the post baby trickle by the way, and the smell.)
She looked at my with big serious eyes, her blond hair sticking out all around her head in a frizzy sleep halo, too big blue pj’s that match her eyes hanging off of her tiny frame, and said, ”Mommy, when, when, when, I am bigger I would yike to have a baby and push it out between my legs someday. And then Beema could hold it, and you could hold it and daddy could hold it. I want to name my her Kristyana.”
My 3-year-old daughter is talking about going through labor someday and looking adorable while doing it. It makes me want to hold her very tight because I know the day will probably come, but I’m so glad that it’s far away still. And where did she get that name?
In related news, my older children started to joyfully declare immediately following the baby’s birth that now I could get pregnant again and have another baby. Not exactly the way I was thinking my first week postpartum.
The Boy also wanted to know why daddy didn’t use his penis to get the baby out. We have a very cute little book that explains how babies get inside of mommies for kids that we read a few times. Apparently he got some of the facts about how babies are made a little confused in his head. He looked very concerned as he asked me that we might have somehow gotten it wrong.
2 thoughts on “the elementary version of the birds and the bees”
Carrien – your writing is amazing. I feel like I know you. I’m working on gathering the strength to make my writing feel as strong as I’m feeling inside. I just wish I knew why I was so afraid to let it out.
Carrien – your writing is amazing. I feel like I know you. I'm working on gathering the strength to make my writing feel as strong as I'm feeling inside. I just wish I knew why I was so afraid to let it out.
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