Yes, it is that time again. Those funny things that kids say that you jot down here there and everywhere, compiled into one cutesy blog post.
“Mom, is that a maggot finding glass?”
“I just had a spoofer and I smelled it.”
“Umm, that’s nice…”
“Not nice Mom! STINKY!”
“My belly just spoofered!” She means gurgled.
Thank you Pat for being Kaya’s farting Thesaurus. Spoofer wins again.
“Brenn-Brenn smells like sneeze… EWWWWWW!!!!”
I have never processed that sneezes have a smell. But they do. And Brenn-Brenn does. Ew.
Kaya comes upstairs with tears flowing and lips quivering.
“I didn’t want to eat my dinner and Daddy got mad at me.”
“Well, eating your dinner is important so you can be healthy and strong.”
“But I’m not hungry” Sob, sob…
Assuming he has made her something she doesn’t like, I ask, “What did Daddy make you?”
Dinner is being eaten. Grilled cheese. Nothing else is memorable. Until Kaya pipes up, out of nowhere, with no warning or any indication WHATSOEVER of what is about to come.
“How did Brennyn get out of your belly?”
With a look that communicates ‘And please, do not tell me you went to the hospital and the doctor helped you get it out, because I’ve heard that before. I mean how did he help you get it out?’
So my age-appropriate answer to that question, that I had rehearsed from my pregnancy days, is no longer valid I guess. She is a week away from 4 years old. Which requires a whole new level of understanding. Only, I have NOT prepared myself for this. I have no idea how to answer her.
I stare dumbfounded.
Bal laughs outright.
Kaya becomes distracted. I am hoping it’s a true distraction and not an embarrassed distraction. There is no resolution.
In fact, I forget completely about it. Dinner is finished, there is playing, there are baths, and finally bed. At no point do I remember the question or formulate an answer. It is though I am blocking it out of my realm of reality. Oh, if only it were so easy.
Girls asleep, I decide to have a shower. Forgive the visual, but I undress and something in the mirror catches my attention. It is a sticker. On my nether regions. A teeny tiny sticker, down there that says QC 180.
Now it is my turn to laugh outright. I have been quality controlled? Down under?
And that’s when it comes back to me. Kaya’s question. I can not avoid it forever. I have to explain how they got out of my belly. Stepping into the shower, I brainstorm 4-year-old-appropriate explanations. But they all come out sounding like I pooped Brenny out. Which I guess, I kinda did. And which would actually appeal to the four-year-old mindset. But pooping out babies? This could traumatize the girl forever! I’d like to be a grandparent one day too.
I still have no clue what to say. Or where that bloody sticker came from.
But since I believe in signs, it would be negligible to ignore this one. Quality Control. In the V zone. Numbered 180.
Screaming at me to do a complete turnaround obviously. No pooping out baby story then. Damn.
So now what?