My son wants to know how the new baby is going to get out of Mommy’s belly. I don’t know what to tell him. It’s not that it is a sensitive question, with an answer I’m not sure how to explain to a three-year-old. It’s that I really don’t know how it happens. The physics of process don’t add up. I know the route the baby is supposed to take, but how he shimmies through the narrows is a complete mystery to me.
The best answer I can give my son is that getting babies out of bellies is a scheme worked up between mommies and doctors, that nobody else could ever truly understand. If he really wants to know how it happens, he could ask Mommy, or a doctor, but it’s probably best to let it go. Like the rest of us non-medical men, he should just refer to the process as a miracle and not think about it too much from now on. Lady parts and miracles are great boons to mankind, but a man can seriously dislocate his brain trying to figure out how they work.
True, I do know a thing or two about how the baby got in there. To accomplish that, Daddy didn’t need to understand miracles; a hearty “can do” attitude saw him through those duties. Forturnately, my son hasn’t asked about that end of the situation yet. I think he considers it to be water under the bridge at this point. What’s done is done; what matters now is figuring out how we’re going to get that baby out.
Now that I think about it, having had a hand in beginning this process, it seems a shame that I can’t have a larger part in seeing it through. Yet, I have to understand that I am just one member of this team. We each have our role to play. My primary role was to help get things off to a good start, and after an appropriate amount of rehersal, I finally pitched in to get things rolling.
At the end of the process I am completely out of my depth. My role has diminished to that of a supporting castmember. When I really think it through, I guess I’m okay with that. Not being in a leadership role gives me more freedom to avert my eyes from any especially miraculous scenes, or to pass out altogether.
Tell him that babies come out when mommies wish hard enough. It’s kind of true. You can leave out the bit about spontaneous poo.
I’m gonna use that line on him next time he asks. I just hope he doesn’t ask what it means. Since kids aren’t naturally curious or anything, I think I’ll be okay.
You’re such a great dad!
I bet that’s what they said about A.A. Milne, too. (to reference a different post)
I don’t think doctors always know how the baby is going to get out either! Mine spent 60 hours telling me it was going to come out one way and then gave up. Luckily they had an alternate plan 🙂
Wow! 60 hours! You must have really admired that doctor for his childlike faith in Plan A.
Childlike is the perfect way to describe it.
I love your sense of humor and the way you write. The pictures and captions are priceless. You are a wise man to teach your son early that life begins in mystery.
And it pretty much continues in mystery. I’m guessing it’s probably going to end in the same dense fog.
I’m a woman, and I’m not even sure how it happens…
Great post, Scott! 😉
I guess the one who really needs to figure it out is the baby. Good thing babies are so wise. Thanks for stopping by, PCC.