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Not Quite The Birds and The Bees

Before I was a parent, I imagined myself one day having kids and explaining to said kids where babies come from. It was a productive conversation that we would have… one with honest questions and honest answers… no silly names for body parts. No giggling and laughing and I CAME OUT OF WHERE?!?! oddities.

Clearly, before I was a parent, I was even more delusional than I am now, as the parent of a three and a half year old, curious, little boy. And clearly, before I was a parent, I had all of the answers. (Please note HEAVY, DRIPPING SARCASM.)

The other day, I found myself without the answers to what seemed like the most simple of questions Jackson had for me.

I was helping Jackson get dressed in his jammies when he patted my belly. He does this sometimes, and occasionally talks to the baby, saying “Tickle Pickle! Tickle Pickle!” (I know. I swoon. It’s entirely adorable.) After he did this the other day, he took a step back and looked me over. Then, he very simply asked…

Mom, where’s your door for the baby to come out?

Now, like I said, I had imagined this conversation taking place before… in my head. That conversation did not go like this…

Umm…

::deafening silence::

Umm… Paul?!?! Can you come here?!?!

Which then led to me sharing Jackson’s question with my husband. Which then led to laughter, and me wondering if I should explain that some babies come out of “doors” and some come out of “windows.”

Which then led to me asking Jackson what book he would like to read before bed…

Because if I find myself unable to answer my kid’s questions, at least I can distract him with my master parenting skills.

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