We were sitting at the dinner table a couple of nights ago. I am half a week past my estimated due date, mind you. Dinner is always a cheerful affair around here, with Rollie entertaining Todd and I with his latest word mispronunciation, gesture, or facial expression. We were taking turns prompting him to say words that we think are funny or cute (“pish” for “fish,” because he can’t say the F sound, for example.) We usually go through his repertoire of animal sounds, ending with the finale of the pig sound: Rollie does a frighteningly realistic pig snort – a real crowd pleaser.
We moved on to the subject of the upcoming addition to our family. We have been reading Rollie books about Mama expecting, about being a big brother, etc. We have discussed how helpful he is going to be with the new baby sister. We discuss the words, “baby,” “sister,” and even attempt the baby’s name at times. We point at my stomach and ask Rollie to pat the baby or kiss the baby. We ask him where the baby is and he will usually point somewhere in the general area of my stomach (or Todd’s stomach) or a stranger’s stomach, or worse, a stranger’s breast. But usually he gets it right, and points to my stomach.
So, I say,
“Rollie where is the baby?”
Rollie looks at me very seriously, points directly to my stomach, and says,
Todd attempts to stifle his laughter, but only manages to snort like a pig, then bursts into full laughter.
Oh, the indignities one must suffer in the name of Motherhood. . . .