Here lately, you ask a lot of questions. Frequently you ask questions because you are curious. Even more frequently you ask questions because...well...I have no idea. By that, I mean you think it's extremely entertaining to ask me questions in which the answer is 1. obvious and 2. known by you already. For instance, "Where I live?" (you know this, in your words, "Nort Caronina"). Then the ever-popular "You boy or girl?" You have already established the gender of me and Dada, yourself, and every other person/dog/cat/car(don't ask) you come in contact with on a regular basis.
We don't really use cutesy terms when it comes to your boy parts and have always either called them, "penis" "balls" "privates" or "boy parts". I feel like it is just less confusing this way, but it is still so jarring when you ask me things like, "You have penis mommy?" " You have balls?"
On that note, trying to explain the deal with men, women, and who has boobs and who doesn't when you ask me if you have boobies is really frustrating. I mean...do guys technically have 'boobies' or what?
While I was in the bathroom today washing my face I hear you yell something from your room. I turned the tap off and yelled "what?"
"COME ERE A SECOND MOMMY. COME ERE!!"
When I walked in your room, you were on the floor with a large book spread out before you. It was my volume of "You're Pregnant!" that Grammy bought me at the beginning of my pregnancy with you. (Your bookshelf if HUGE so we have most of our books on there.)
"LOOK. This mommy ate up baby." You say deadpan, as you point to the first page. There was a heavily pregnant lady with her stomach bare next to the table of contents.
LOL!! As soon as I finished laughing I found a diagram in the book that showed about 10 different stages of the baby gradually growing in the belly and explained it to you the best I could. And by God...you got it-because as soon as Dada got home from school you called him into your room to show him and explain that the Mommy didn't eat that baby.
You're still a little stinker and I never know what to expect. Dinner time every night is either a really nasty time because if I don't cook you mac and cheese you try to play dumb and whine "Where MY dinner?" when you sit down.
"Right there." I say, pointing to whatever is on your plate.
"I NO LIKE DIS!!" is your response. And it mostly goes downhill from there.
On the flip side, sometimes you sit down and immediately try whatever I have made and say "Dis so good. Dis yummy." and when you're finished sometimes you will actually tell me multiple times,
"Thank you for dis dinner mommy" and if you think I haven't heard your or just didn't properly get the message, "Thank you for making dis dinner mommy. Dis stuff sooo good!!"
On that note, earlier this week while we were eating dinner you somehow bit your own thumb SO HARD that it bled...and bled...and bled. You were heartbroken that your own teeth would betray you in this way, and I flashed back to my bleeding nipples during the nursing/teething days. Oh G baby.
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