I made spaghetti last night, and Caroline helped me make a Caesar salad.
Then we all sat down to enjoy a family dinner. We were just like the Cleavers, although I’m not sure Ward and June ever had this discussion with Wally and Beaver.
“Mama, this bread is delicious. THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS DELICIOUS BREAD!”
“You’re welcome, Sweetie. Thank you for your good manners.”
“Daddy, did you know the firemen came to my school today? We saw the firetruck!”
“Wow! That’s great, Doodle.”
“Mama, how do babies come out of your tummy?”
Oh my word. I started to choke on my pasta. I thought P was going to have to heimlich some noodles.
“Do they come out of your mouth?”
Hmm.
Wasn’t I supposed to have a few more years to figure out this kind of stuff? I’m sweating. Is it hot in here?
Meanwhile, P is looking at me, beyond amused, like he can’t wait to hear my answer.
“Well (huge deep breath)…babies live in their mama’s tummy and when they’re ready to be born, they come out of her tee-tee.” (Do not judge me, internet. I’m fully aware the proper anatomical name is hoo-hah. We’ll teach her when the time is right.)
Caroline looked at me for what seemed like an eternity.
She finally said, “Oh Mama, that is yucky.”
And then she burst out in hysterical laughter as if to say, you people kill me with the kind of things you think I’ll believe.