A Proactive commercial came on Sunday and Molley, my 3-year-old, turned to me and asked, “Do you want some of that? You’ve got dots on you. It will just erase them off! The lady said so.”
“Um, if you’re referring to my apparent adult acne, thank you for that. Maybe I’ll order some,” I replied.
“Good!” she said. “Maybe you can use it for the brown dots on your arms, too.”
It’s a great day when your 3-year-old notes your flaws and suggests you take Lindsay Lohan’s skincare advice.
Of course, this is the same child that just the day before, revisited the “where do babies come from?” discussion yet again.
The first time it came up, she asked my mom, who was in town visiting. My mom copped out and said, “Oh, you can adopt babies!” and when pressed further about how it all happens, answered, “You fill out a lot of paperwork.”
And then told me I’d better figure out how to handle that one.
I should have listened, because the next month, she asked me where babies come from. I told her, “From moms’ tummies,” because, hello, that’s exactly where they come from. And she knows that babies grow in tummies and that she grew in another mom’s tummy, so I felt like we were covered there.
Of course, my child isn’t happy with average answers. “But how do they get there?” she pressed.
I did that thing I used to totally judge parents for and mumbled something about how God puts them there, then I offered her a chocolate bar, just about the only surefire distraction technique I knew was a guarantee.
I clearly win at parenting.
You’d think I’d have taken a bit of time to figure out how we were going to handle this one. But I still refused to believe that a 3-year-old would really push to know how babies are made.
On Saturday, on the way to Costco, she engaged in the cutest conversation with Mattix, who at nearly 5.5, couldn’t care less where babies come from.
“Brother,” she said, “when we grow up and get married and have babies, do you want to adopt them or have them grow in my tummy?”
“I don’t know yet, Molley,” he responded. “I’ll decide later.”
“I think I want both. I want to adopt some and I want some to grow in my tummy,” Molley said.
“Huh, okay,” he replied.
Sadly, I was too wrapped up in the cuteness/oh-the-horror-of-the-story-when-I-tell-them-as-teenagers moment to consider where it was leading. Ed and I were giving each other those “wow, this is so cute” looks in the front seats when she slapped me right back to the present.
“Mommy, where do babies come from?” she asked.
“They grow in mommies’ tummies,” I stammered, fearing for myself.
“I KNOW that,” Moll replied. “You told me that. But HOW DO THEY GET THERE?”
“Oh, well, God puts them there,” I replied, mustering up as much I-know-what-I’m-talking-about authority as I possibly could.
“I KNOW THAT, too,” she said, annoyed. “You’ve already told me that. BUT HOW DOES HE PUT THEM THERE?”
I looked over at Ed. He was a bit pale. He was clearly going to be of no help.
“Well, He knows when a mom is ready for…”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she continued. “Does he put wings on the babies? Otherwise, they’d fall and get hurt. God is in Heaven in the sky. So the babies would fall when he put them in the tummies. How would He get down to do it? DO THE BABIES FLY INTO THE TUMMIES? Do they have wings?”
Why don’t they serve booze at the Costco snack bar? I thought.
“Um, babies come from magic beans?” I muttered under my breath to Ed.
“Well, they don’t actually start as babies. They’re really tiny – so tiny you can’t see them – and then they grow…” I stammered.
At that moment, we’d finally reached the front of the line for Costco gas. There was some confusion about the cars pulling out and some talking and thankyousomuch, she actually got distracted.
But it will come up again. And when it does, I need an answer. Because I don’t think “magic beans” will suffice.
So, anyone care to help? I’m going to hit up everyone’s favorite psychologist, Dr. Google, but I’d love to know what you think. I’m most certainly not going to give me 3-year-old a full and legit birds and bees talk because she will so be that kid that imparts her knowledge upon every. single. child. at. preschool., but where does that leave me?