TBoTK, version 3.0: vagenealogy

The Mama… Kindergarten… Anxiety… The Best of The Kidling…

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vagenealogy

After a glorious Sunday morning at the park and afternoon at the pool, The Family relaxed after dinner by watching Olympic Track and Field Trials while eating Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton. It was a beautiful day, made perfect by this unexpected inquiry:

Alice: Mom and Dad, how’d you get here? (an “oh shit” look passes between The Mama and The Dada) I mean, who got you out of her vagina? (looks pointedly at The Mama)

The Mama: Grandma

Alice: And Dad? Who— Who got you out of her vagina? (The Mama exits the room in a spasm of failed giggle containment)

The Dada: You know.

Alice: Oh yeah. Nana. (looks around) Where’d Mom go?

The Dada: She went to the next room.

Alice: (greedy fingers grip the Ben & Jerry’s) Now it’s all mines.

If there is a pithy conclusion to this interaction, then I don’t have it. All I can say is, my life might now be complete. Holy crap, Alice. I love the shit out of you.

TBoTK

‘Tis the week before The Kidling begins Kindergarten. As such, I have determined this to be a weekend of “The Best of The Kidling.” TBoTK, if you will. But really, don’t.

I anticipate TBoTK weekend lasting longer than a weekend, so allow me to apologize in advance. Or not. It’s my blog and I’ll do what I want to.

Without further ado, I bring you a post from the archives…

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the big question

Let’s start this weekend off right, shall we?

Friday afternoon, Alice asked me The Big Question. She did not propose, though she has done that before. No, she asked something far more difficult for me to provide a proper response. Without giggling, that is.

The Kidling was concerned about whether she is older than The Kidd-o, or whether The Kidd-o was actually born first. I told her that, in fact, The Kidd-o was older. Alice was understandably ticked.

Alice: But you told me I was older!

The Mama: No, sweetie, [The Kidd-o] was born ten days before you were.

Alice: Why?

And this, dear readers, is where it gets good. I began a windy monologue on how babies are born when they decide to. Babies come out, I told her, when their bodies are strong enough and they are ready to live in the world. Alice, delighted at her autonomy from a very young age, listened carefully. After a brief pause while she processed what I was telling her, she asked…

Alice: How’d you get me out anyway?

The Mama: Actually, Alice, you came out of my vagina.

Alice: (very long pause) Whoa. (giggles) That’s funny. (another long pause) Vaginas? (yet another very long pause) So I got peed out? In the toilet?

At this point The Kidling began verbally working her way through the details: home birth vs. hospital birth, toilet vs. bed… Surprisingly on-point insight was interspersed with a lot of “that’s funny.” I confess we were driving during this conversation, so I jotted her funniest utterings on the back of my “to-do” list when we were parked at stop lights. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice some pretty funny stuff to the far more important priority of our physical safety. I know. I apologize.

Her final wisdom on birthing came with the observation that “you came out of Grandma’s vagina, then I came out of your vagina.”

The significant time lapse between these events clearly did not register. Which is why I love living with a four-year-old. And lucky for you, I write this sh*t down.

Happy weekend!

vagenealogy

After a glorious Sunday morning at the park and afternoon at the pool, The Family relaxed after dinner by watching Olympic Track and Field Trials while eating Ben & Jerry’s straight from the carton. It was a beautiful day, made perfect by this unexpected inquiry:

Alice: Mom and Dad, how’d you get here? (an “oh shit” look passes between The Mama and The Dada) I mean, who got you out of her vagina? (looks pointedly at The Mama)

The Mama: Grandma

Alice: And Dad? Who— Who got you out of her vagina? (The Mama exits the room in a spasm of failed giggle containment)

The Dada: You know.

Alice: Oh yeah. Nana. (looks around) Where’d Mom go?

The Dada: She went to the next room.

Alice: (greedy fingers grip the Ben & Jerry’s) Now it’s all mines.

If there is a pithy conclusion to this interaction, then I don’t have it. All I can say is, my life might now be complete. Holy crap, Alice. I love the shit out of you.

the big question

Let’s start this weekend off right, shall we?

Friday afternoon, The Kidling asked me The Big Question. She did not propose, though she has done that before. No, she asked something far more difficult for me to provide a proper response. Without giggling, that is. The Kidling was concerned about whether she is older than The Kidd-o, or whether The Kidd-o was actually born first. I told her that, in fact, The Kidd-o was older. The Kidling was understandably ticked.

The Kidling: But you told me I was older!
The Mama: No, sweetie, [The Kidd-o] was born ten days before you were.
The Kidling: Why?

And this, dear readers, is where it gets good. I began a windy monologue on how babies are born when they decide to. Babies come out, I told her, when their bodies are strong enough and they are ready to live in the world. The Kidling, delighted at her autonomy from a very young age, listened carefully. After a brief pause while she processed what I was telling her, she asked…

The Kidling: How’d you get me out anyway?
The Mama: Actually, dear, you came out of my vagina.
The Kidling: (very long pause) Whoa. (giggles) That’s funny. (another long pause) Vaginas? (yet another very long pause) So I got peed out? In the toilet?

At this point The Kidling began verbally working her way through the details: home birth vs. hospital birth, toilet vs. bed… Surprisingly on-point insight was interspersed with a lot of “that’s funny.” I confess we were driving during this conversation, so I jotted her funniest utterings on the back of my “to-do” list when we were parked at stop lights. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice some pretty funny stuff to the far more important priority of our physical safety.

I know. I apologize.

Her final wisdom on birthing came with the observation that “you came out of Grandma’s vagina, then I came out of your vagina.” The significant time lapse between these events clearly did not register. Which is why I love living with a four-year-old.

And lucky for you, I write this sh*t down.