It's Not the Stork

I have been given no reprieve from the discussions of baby making. Suffice it to say that my child is not interested in the city or hospital he was born in when he asks "Where did I come from?" I have been a little shocked at some of the opinions shared when I've asked others how they have handled questions of bird and bee. One person with several kids insisted, adamantly even, that it is best to tell children a story about a large, baby delivering bird. Seriously. Another friend reminded me to make the distinction about the parties being grown up and married. She would be one having a more clear understanding of my baby loving and scientific son.

The best advice of course is to simply answer a child's questions as they come up. Don't offer more than what they are asking and they will only continue to ask what they are ready to hear. Okay, makes sense. Or so I thought. I actually do know my son relatively well and have had very long question and answer sessions about such things as how electricity flows through power lines, the origin of the foods on his plate, and the detailed operation of a motor vehicle. Why I thought I would be able to have this conversation in 22 seconds or less, is really beyond me.

I have checked out many books from the library and also searched on line for just the right presentation for my inquisitive son. I had yet to pre-screen the books and had to come up with some answers fast so I resorted to Google. I was directed to the Mayo Clinic's website where they offered a bit about babies being created from a "very special hug" between a mommy and a daddy. I thought this might be the perfect response. Pretty real with no gory details, no experiments that needed to be carried out et cetera. Nathan asked the question again not ten minutes after I read this suggestion so I decided to give it a try. I regurgitated it verbatim, my words carried with the tone of a gentle breeze I was so confident. That feeling lasted all of about a nanosecond, at which time Nathan looked at me like I was the idiot I am and said "But...How?" The moment of truth was upon me. I joined him at at his little table in the kitchen, elbows on knees, looked at him intently and said, "A baby is made from a very special part from a man and a very special part from a woman. Those special parts come together and they grow and grow in the womb until they make a baby." As I said this, I motioned absently with each of my index fingers and then brought them together signifying the joining of the special cells to create a zygote. By the time I finished my sentence and brought my fingers together, his eyes lit up, the corners of his lips crept into a smile and he exclaimed "I wanna do that!" Yes indeed.

Ever since, the conversation is easier, a good book is on the shelf, special parts have been named properly. I am hoping we are good for awhile. These posts are all about preserving memories for our little family, so I can not close without mentioning another related conversation that is particularly relevant to us.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah?"

"So, Mommy, what if I find someone I really love, and then get married, then 'cide to have a baby, and then, what if I can't?"

He is a gift I tell you.

"Well, then there are other options," I said. "One option might be that you get help from a doctor to have a baby, just like Daddy and I had help to have you."

"Oh, okay."

And then, there was the photo shoot. Though we have gotten down to real terms on a lot of things, my initial explanation combined with the joining of pointed index fingers has made a lasting impression it might seem. Last weekend Nathan was tooling around the house taking pictures of everyone and everything. Soon enough he was commanding us around like we were contestants on America's Top Model or the like and motioned me in the direction of Shaun with the wave of a hand, "Mommy, go sit next to Daddy!" Another snap happy person might ask his subjects to "Smile!" or perhaps the traditional "Say Cheese!" But no, he jumped up and down and happily directed us to "Pretend like you're making a baby! Smile, put your fingers together and pretend like you are making a baby!"

Baby Fever

Nathan loves babies. He seeks them out and can be quite obsessed with helping them, taking care of them, showing them affection, basically stalking them. There has even been a full blown meltdown in a children's clothing store where he insisted on buying infant clothing for the baby that he would somehow procure. When questioned as to how he would facilitate this plan, he has come up with varying answers from buying a baby at the store to taking one home from the park. Lest you be fearful that he would leave some poor woman childless, he has it worked out such that the family from which he will seize the baby will have other children, so they won't miss just one. He's thoughtful like that.

Nathan has now matured and grown and no longer talks of bringing strange babies home. Now he simply lets his needs be known along with asking for clarity around some of the details he has yet to work out.

Our conversation over breakfast yesterday morning:

"Mommy, I want a baby."

"You do?"

"Yeah, I want a baby in your tummy, then...a baby."

"Yes, I would like that too, but it's not always that easy."

He continued eating his breakfast and I went about packing his lunch for preschool and emptying the dishwasher. Have I mentioned that he is fascinated with how things work? Yes, very much so, and this was to be no exception.

"Mommy? But how does somebody get in your tummy to be a baby?"

My head spun with the many possibilities of how to answer the question. This question that we have known was imminent. I wanted to choose just the right amount of information to give him while at the same time laying the foundation for all the questions that would follow not only in this moment, but also in the years to come. Answers that do not meet his satisfaction are typically met with a barrage of additional questions that generally make my head hurt, lead me to pour a glass of wine and lock myself in my room. Being that it was 7am, I deemed this not to be the most appropriate course of action. After a few deep breaths, the simplicity of my answer emerged from the hollows of my brain while I noticed that he had been silent those 15 seconds of my despair. As I had struggled, he had moved on.

"Mommy? Did my water come from an animal?"

I was granted a reprieve for which I am grateful. The swift kick in the fanny was duly noted just the same.