There we were… eating our dinner of bbq’d pork chops, grilled asparagus and red peppers, and noodles.
Fried in butter.
Topped with parmesan.
Yes.
We were engaging in our usual banter, “Your Mom…” “YOUR MOM…”
Which is especially funny when I say, “YOUR MOM!” to the kids.
That joke just never gets old.
Annywho. Out of the blue, Lucy (just barely new to being 7), speaking in her normal ALL CAPS voice queried:
HOW DO YOU MAKE BABIES???
*SILENCE*
An ALL CAPS kind-of silence.
We were stunned. And though there are two sibilings before her… we found ourselves unprepared.
Because really, DOES A QUESTION LIKE THIS EVER COME AT A TIME WE ARE READY FOR IT?
And when it all boiled down, the girl never got her answer at the dinner table.
BECAUSE SHE’S SEVEN.
Also, dinner time is not a good time to dig into the deep issues anyway. We have too many jokes to tell, and too many impressions we are trying to one-up each other with, and too many elbows are on the table.
And occasionally feet.
Which is NOT allowed.
But… HAVE YOU MET MY CHILDREN?
Of course Lucy couldn’t have asked something like, “How are babies born?” or “Where do babies come from?” No. She wanted to know how. to. MAKE. babies.
FABULOUS.
I ended up telling Lucy babies were made from magic.
BECAUSE IT’S TRUE.
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