As I am sitting here blogging, I am in my gym clothes, which really show my baby pooch that poked out this week.
William asked about it earlier in the day, and I told him that the baby was in there.
This afternoon, William came a sat by me. He was just looking at my stomach very seriously. I looked up at him, and he asked, "Mom, why did you eat a baby?"
I literally made all sorts of snorts and noises trying to hard not to burst out laughing hysterically, and I found a way to calmly tell William that I did not eat a baby.
He replied, "yes you did, I saw you last night."
I ate pizza last night, and he must be referring to the tomato sauce or something. What a horrible image!
I promised him that I did not eat a baby, over and over again. I tried to explain to him that the baby just got in there, and is growing. I told him that when the baby gets big enough, the doctor will take it out, and he will have a new brother or sister.
He then asked how the doctor will get the baby out.
Before I could answer he said, "Oh, the doctor will reach down your throat (he then shoved his chubby hand down his throat until he gagged), like that, and then pull the baby that you ate back out."
I simply explained to him that the doctor will not pull the baby out my mouth, and that I really didn't eat a baby. I told him that the doctor will help pull the baby out of my tummy when it is time.
William then sat silent for a minute or two. I figured he was thinking about something else, or just watching me type.
Then, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Mom, are you going to eat me?"