This morning over their shredded wheat (without milk) the twinkies asked how they “got in your belly when we were babies.” Their Sunday school teacher is pregnant, so they’ve had a lot of questions lately about babies.
Two weeks ago Reese spent almost an entire Sunday afternoon with a balloon under his shirt. He was pregnant too. Excellent.
Since I am a pretty awesome mom my standard answer to this kind of question is “Daddy put you there.” I know this does not clarify anything for them, but at least it gets me off the hook.
Today Jackson had another idea. He told me a story about going into the forest and getting egg which was then put in my belly. (Reese wanted to know if I ate them. I assured him that I did not) Not terribly far from the truth. He also asked when the egg “cracked.” I told him that it was not that kind of egg.
He looked at me like I had a chicken on my forehead.
Then he told me that the egg did crack. Reese cracked first and then he cracked, four weeks later.
I told him it was only half an hour later.
He looked at me like I was speaking in clucks.
So there it is. No stork, no daddy, no hospital. Just me in a forest planting eggs in my belly and then cracking out twin boys. Four weeks apart.
The next time some stranger asks me about fertility treatments I am telling them that story.