Smelling of shampoo and baby soap, Cheeky and Monkey were tucked up in bed for stories. Tonight I was on bedtime duty as Him Downstairs was off throwing himself round a soccer pitch in an attempt to keep fit.
I read them a book called Mommies Are For Counting Stars which is all about all the lovely things Mommies/Mummies do for their children. Lots of…
’A mommy knows how to kiss a boo-boo…’
’If you need an audience for your puppet show, a mommy will watch.’
’A mommy reminds you to say “thank you”..’
Then I turned the page and read…
’A mommy can look like a rose. A mommy can have a baby inside her.’
This one is accompanied by a drawing of the mommy in a maternity dress and a hat adorned with roses. (Personally, I have never whether ‘up the duff’ or not, worn a hat with a load of dead flowers on it, but each to their own.)
Anyway, Cheeky and Monkey who have been paying close attention (for once) to my words, stop me from turning the page.
Cheeky looks closely at the picture of the mommy’s swollen belly and asks, “Mummy, why is there a baby in her tummy?”
(Maybe this book was a bad idea. That’ll teach me to purchase before thoroughly reading every page.)
“Because that’s where babies grow darling” I say. (Am crossing my fingers no more questions will follow, but who am I trying to kid?)
Meanwhile, his brother, Monkey, is looking down his pyjama top and saying, ”Baby. Baby. Baby? This?”
“Yes boys, that mommy has a baby in her tummy, that's where babies grow.”
Cheeky looks at me in exasperation. “Don’t be silly mummy, babies don't go in our bellies. We don’t eat babies, do we Monkey?”
And his brother looks at me and says, “No eat baby Mama. No. No. Me baby?”
I can’t help smiling. “Yes, you’re right. We don’t eat babies.”
They wouldn’t taste good would they? I don’t want a baby in my tummy Mummy,” says Cheeky.
And with that, I wrap my babies in a bear hug, cover them in night-night kisses and assure them that in no way, will they ever have babies in their bellies. (Well, obviously not unless medical science gets that advanced in their reproductive lifetime, but that's not a conversation to get into with a 2 and 3 year old, is it?)
On the way out of the door, I dump Mommies Are For Counting Stars in the back of the closet. That was quite enough 'Where do babies come from?' talk for one night. I think I cleared it up quite well for them, don't you?