Dodging bullets

I can lay claim to Brock being my child if, for no other reason, than he is incredibly random.

Just the other day we were trying to get the kids in the Christmas mood by watching Christmas movies like Rudolph.  Brock was insistent that we watch Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs for the millionth time and Greg was insistent that we watch a Christmas movie.

Greg won.

Brock pouted.

Greg and I were sitting there, being transported back to our childhood when, out of nowhere, Brock blurts out, “I’m a single mother with three kids.  I could use a little compassion!” 

In case you’re not well-versed in Brockenese, that’s a line from Ice Age.  Apparently since we weren’t going to let him watch it, he decided to re-create it on his own.


Total Randomness.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when, on Saturday morning, he’s sitting on his couch playing with all of his little animals and then he calls them his babies.

I say something off-handed like, “Aw that’s so cute.  They are your babies & you are the daddy.”

Which he immediately responds with, “Yes I am the daddy but they lived in my tummy; just like Sissy lived in your tummy!”

Greg and I exchange looks like, “Well, he’s your kid.”

Then Greg does the unthinkable.

He says, “Buddy?  How did those babies get into your tummy?”

Whiskey.  Tango.  Foxtrot.

I have no clue what would possess my husband to ask our three-year-old how babies got into bellies.

But he did.

And Brock’s answer?

“My babies got in my belly because I wanted them to.  Then they came out when they got big enough.  Just like Sissy.”

I was satisfied with that answer but apparently Greg wanted to know more. 

Maybe he wants to carry our next child.

Greg: “How did they come out?”

Brock: “Frew my bewwy.”

Greg: “But how?”

Me: [nervous laughter] “Silly Daddy!  They came out through his belly button!”

Brock: “Yeah, Dad. [exasperated sigh] They commed out frew my bewwy button.  See?!  Dis one, wight hewe! [points to his belly button]”

Me: “Okay!  I’m completely satisfied with that answer for a boy your age.”

Don’t get me wrong, I will be the one to sit down with our kids when I feel like they are ready for the birds and the bees talk.  But I don’t feel like a 3-year-old needs to know the gory details of pregnancy & childbirth.

After all, I wouldn’t want him to repeat the stunt he pulled earlier this year.

P.S. Have you entered my giveaway for 2 Children’s Books?  I’m closing the giveaway this week so hurry up and enter!


10 thoughts on “Dodging bullets

  1. I think Greg wanted to see how far he could push you. He was bored yesterday because it was toooo cold to go outside and he thought he would entertain hisself at your expense. I say this because that is something your father would have done!
    “Can we have a little compassion here??” Love it when he says that.

  2. Dear sweet and innocent Tara. LOL. When Chris was not quite 2 (I was very preggo with Jesse) he asked a lady at playgroup when her baby was going to come out of her butt. Ah, the joys of living on a farm. He had WAYYYY too much knowledge at that age of the whole process. Maybe you should be glad Brock doesn’t spend a lot of time with us. LOL.

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