When She Asked, I Said...

"Well, um (clear throat), when two people love each other, their love makes a baby."

This was not enough. "But how does the love make a baby?"

"Daddy and I kissed, and the love in our kiss made a baby."

"Oh. And you had a baby in your tummy after that?"

"Mmm hmmm."

She then instructed me to immediately kiss Daddy when he gets home from work, so that she may have another sibling. Preferably a boy sibling, thankyouverymuch.

That was when I found this in her room, I suppose to act as an inspirational how-to in case the urge arises:

"Good night, Terry." And then BAM- the following morning, reality sets in. "Terry? Terry?"

It all seemed like yesterday that I was pregnant. And as quickly as I made our son (note the male appendage), he had arrived with similar haste. In Fiona's reality, my gestation period is the same as that of a goldfish.

When I asked Fiona to tell me about each character in the drawing, she explained, "The picture of you with the big belly was from before the baby came out." Ok, gotcha. "And then he pops out, (*POP*) and Daddy is so happy he starts dancing." And I see the post-delivery belly sag. The girl is all about some accuracy. "And then you take his picture. And then we tickle him." You say tickle, I say ticill.

We've been here before. And by here I mean the hell-like place that is somewhere between truth (I hate being pregnant, and I'm too vain to get pregnant and gain 80 lbs again) and fable (when does the stork arrive with our bundle of baby boy joy?). And yet, somehow, this 6 year old girl knows just what to say to make me actually consider the happiness of an addition to casablanca.