One of these bulges is not like the other...

Pregnancy takes some explanation.  Especially when you're two and are wondering which mound on your mama's mid-section houses what, and for what purpose.

My mom, Jude and I had stopped at a Red Burrito joint in Iowa on the way back from a visit to the town where I grew up.  Mom had gone to the bathroom and I was cleaning up the remnants of dinner and corralling Jude so that he wouldn't get tripped on by a crew of about 12 men who had arrived after what I'm guessing was a football game.

After feeling the usual twinge of guilt at tossing the packaging from a rare fast-food meal on the road, I bent down to talk to Jude, who was pointing at my stomach and trying to ask me something.

"Is your baby in here?" he asked, addressing the firm bulge of my belly with his short, pudgy finger.

"Yes, he is," I answered.  "He's your baby brother."

"My baby brudder?" he said.

"Yep," I replied, noting how irresistible he is when he replaces "th" with "d". 

His bright eyes moved further up my torso and he pointed again, this time at my chest area, his fingertip burrowing into my flesh.

"Is your baby in here?", he asked.  (I swear he had a twinkle in his eye.)

"Nooooo..." I replied, redirecting his curiosity from my chest back to my belly.  "He's in here, remember?"

"Oh," he said.  "Huh."

Having been in our own world together for a few moments, I looked up to see a 20-something guy with shaved black hair, sagging jeans, and a huge smirk on his face.  He wasn't making eye contact, but it was obvious he had overheard Jude's questions.  My mom had returned from the bathroom just in time to witness the tail end of Jude and my conversation, and the look on the guy's face.  We laughed all the way to the car.

Since then he asks me daily if I have a baby in each of my boobs.

"Is your baby in here?" (pokes one boob).  "No."

"Is your baby in here?" (pokes the other boob).  "No."

"Is your baby in here?" (pokes my stomach).  "Yes!"

I tried to help him make sense of mama's changing landscape by introducing him to the concept of nursing.  Babies are in tummies, whereas these other two things have a different purpose once the baby is born.  When the routine guessing game is over, he reminds himself of the facts by saying, "There's no baby in there.  There's milk in there for the baby to drink."

It's a good thing their brains are so malleable at this age, because otherwise these concepts would seem ridiculous.  In some ways, they're still strange to me.

The fall wardrobe

I am obsessed with picking up two-dollar flannel shirts at thrift stores in size 3T.  

If you see Jude this fall, he'll be in flannel.  And probably a pair of sagging jeans because he has no bum and nothing from 24 months on fits his lower half.  

Feel free to squish him a bit when you do see him.  We do.

Stay this way

Jude just got his first National Geographic subscription from his Grandma Lehman.  It's a special edition for small children.  His first issue had a red fox on the cover, and it included wild-animal trading cards that I tore out and cut up for him.  He keeps them on the shelf of his art easel, and rediscovers them there once in awhile.

He has a favorite card.  It's a photo of a mouse balancing itself between two blades of grass. 

"Look at his little eyes," Jude says as he holds the card lovingly.  "He is very little.  He is very koosy."  Then he rubs his cheek on the card to koos the mouse.

I love that he loves that mouse trading card.  I love how he holds it and talks to it.  I love how he wanted to take it to Donna's the other day and show the other kids, which he did the moment we walked into the door.  "Ellery!  Look at my little mouse!"  Then he carefully placed it inside his diaper bag so that it wouldn't get lost at daycare.

Can I just keep him in this mode, please?  A time when a mouse picture was his treasured possession?  When he had it in his head that he could snuggle the mouse just by rubbing a piece of cardboard on his face?

To be fair, this behavior would be odd in an adult male.  But in the mode I'm in right now, I dread the day he shows more fascination for baseball cards than for mouse ones.

Keeping it Real

Last night, dinner was mostly finished and forks were scraping plates. Full to the brim, I scooted my chair back a bit to slouch and Jono caught sight of my mid-section. The following exchange took place:

Jono: "What's in Mommy's tummy?"
Jude: "A baby!"
Jono: "What kind of baby?"
Jude: "A black baby!"

...

[moment of silence]

Hands were clapped over mouths. Someone probably snorted. Jude concluded he was a comic genius, but with no idea why.

(Full disclosure: I was wearing a black shirt.)

Honest Food Labels

Adventures in feeding children... and ourselves. I guess that's getting straight to the point, isn't it? I underestimated the challenge.