So, a month or so ago, you read my lovely initial birds and bees conversation with my six-year-old. (Yes, SIX.)
Apparently Elizabeth has babies on the brain, as yesterday when we were stuck on Mopac, she suddenly asked, “How do you make a baby?”
Thankfully, traffic was at a dead stop, or I might have swerved off the road. This would be multi-tasking at its finest.
In a brilliant extension of my previous tactic, I answered with another question. “What do you mean?”
She would not be thwarted. “I mean, what makes a baby?”
Deep breath. “Well, inside a daddy is a part that makes the baby. And in the mother is the other part. When they come together, they make a baby start to grow in the mother’s tummy.”
“But how does he get it in there?”
Arrrghhh! My nine-year-old was mercifully silent, hunched in the back seat as though she could disappear into the cushion.
I decided to evade, not wanting to get into technical aspects. “He puts it inside the mom. And then it grows for over nine months, and then it comes out.” Genius use of ambiguous pronouns, thank you very much.
She still wanted details. “But how does he get it IN there?”
Traffic inched forward another three feet, then stopped. My mind raced. No McDonald’s nearby. No ice cream shops. What I wouldn’t give for a Chuck E. Cheese at the moment! Here, kids, tokens! Anything but The Talk!
But I was trapped.
“How does it, Mama, how does it?”
“Well, the mom and dad just decide it is time, and so they…” Oh, someone get me out of this. “They decide to make the baby.”
The cars nudged past the on ramp that was slowing us down, and we cruised a little faster.
“Almost there!” I said, lying like a toddler with a fistful of stolen cookie. We had another twenty minutes easy. “Who wants gelato when we get to Mandola’s?”
They girls chorused “Me, me!”
“Which flavor is best?” I asked.
“Chocolate!” Elizabeth shouted.
“No lemon!” Emily said.
My work here was done.