Barrett, our ever curious, ever inquisitve four year old, is insatiable in his quest for knowledge. The kid, as I believe is similar to most 4 year olds, asks nearly four hundred and eight questions a day. Upwards of four hundred and eighty-two on a high volume day. He asks questions about planets. About why his brother is being scolded. About the weather. About the windshield wipers on the car. About the shape of his fork. About the words in a song. About the words we just spoke. About life. About death. About Heaven. And about God. He asks endless questions pertaining to when we will get a dog. And about why certain superheroes possess certain powers while others don’t. And what Superheroes would do with their powers if there were no crime. The child inquires about why words are spelled a certain way. And who made certain letters make certain sounds. Why we live in Omaha and not Florida. If he will lose his hair like his dad. Or if it will change colors like his grandpas. Why we didn’t have DVR or Netflix or cell phones when we were kids. And why his grandmas and grandpas have landlines and we don’t. He asks when Jonah will be the same age as him. And then asks why that will never be possible. He asks why 2 plus 2 can’t be 5 and who decided it was 4. He asks what we will have for lunch and why we are having that. He asks why we have to pick up our toys if we’re just going to play with them tomorrow. He asks why some people do bad things and others do good. He asks where he’ll go to kindergarten next year. He asks why, if daddy and Jonah’s names are from the Bible, Jesus is unsuitable as a name for the baby. He asks why he is a boy and his friend Moni is a girl. He asks why we have carpet instead of wood flooring. Why we can’t always get what we want. He asks why. He asks who. He asks what. He asks when. He asks where. He asks. And I almost always try to answer. And then every once in a great while… he really throws me off.
“Mom. I’ve been thinking. You said the baby is going to come out of your tummy. But there are no openings there. So how does the baby actually come out?”
He’s asked this recently and I told him that the babe will exit via my stomach. Though I’ve yet to have a c-section, I felt this answer was true enough and would suffice. But he’s gotten me on a technicality. I sift through my mental catalog. There’s a right answer. And then there’s an answer. And then there’s the answer I’d be comfortable sharing. And then there’s a lie. Hmmm….
Luckily, the hubs comes to my rescue: The doctor takes it out.
pause.
And boom. He’s satisfied and he’s onto the next question.
We call his penis a penis. And we’ve even talked about the appropriate behavior with said penis {a story that is for another day}. We try to be pretty black and white on most things. Not a whole lot of sugar coating here. But telling my four year old that this Beeb is going to breakout of my business is not a discussion I’m ready to have…at least not today. And maybe that’s wrong. And maybe it’s not. I sure as heck don’t know {…has anyone found that parenting book with all the answers?}.
But I do know I avoided having to talk birds, bees and baby delivery with Barrett for another day and that means we won’t have to talk about it for at least another few days, when inevitably, he asks again. And as a mom of a four and two year old, I’m calling that a win.
You might also like
