So, Where Do Babies Come From?

There has, no doubt, been a lot of discussion about babies around here lately. Bouncy seats and crib sheets are coming out of the woodwork, and teeny tiny diapers (that M are just sure are for her dolls) are starting to pile up.

There have been a lot of questions. Some I prefer not to answer. "How does the baby come out of your belly?" "God has a special magic way and He and Daddy help me" doesn't work any better now than it did in December when we reminisced about the day of D's birth.

We talk about how big baby is, how baby's head is down here, and up here is his little bum, and over here you can feel an elbow or knee. We look at some pictures of babies in utero to get the general idea. D talks about when we bring the baby home from the hospital, M refers to when the baby "pops out." I'm pretty sure she imagines baby emerges through my belly button.

They both like to interact with baby. D can almost always get baby to move by talking (ok, shouting) to my belly. M prefers to tickle baby (again, via my belly button). She likes to sit in the rocker in the nursery and sing to baby. “Rock-a-bye belly on the tree top” is how her song goes.

D wants to know when God will decide to give us another baby, so we'll be six, instead of five (pushy, isn't he?). He believes baby will be a boy. M always refers to baby as "her."

I think M has no real clue what is heading at us. We've watched video of newborn M in the hospital and at home. It gave a realistic picture of how small the baby will be and how much they cry, what they look like, etc. We thought it would help prepare them. Instead, M is obsessed with pretending to be a baby. She tries out all of baby's things. She does a fake baby cry all the time, telling us she's a baby, trying to get someone to rock her or burp her. We try to reinforce how much better it is to be “big” like babies don’t get to eat cookies, only milk. Babies are too little for legos and too little to sleep with dollys. She doesn’t care. Being a baby still sounds like fun to her.

The other day D said to me, "I think its going to be hard to decide which baby to bring home from the hospital." I suggested that we bring home the one that God put inside my belly. He thought that might make it an easier decision.

M thinks we should name baby "Baby" and D thinks we should call it "Salad Pizza Healy." Mainly because Caesar salad is something I have eaten consistently 2-3 times a day throughout this pregnancy. "And," he reminded me, "It’s a good name for a boy or a girl." What fine logic!