Fertile Sweaters

I called the boys in to tell them the news.  I knew Luca would understand more than Dash, with nearly four extra years under his belt, and having been through this whole process once before.  Given that the result had been a seemingly-bipolar tyrant whose high-pitched screams had damaged eardrums and left emotional scars, I wasn't sure Luca would be as thrilled as I was about the impending addition to our family.

From Dash, I was just hoping for the smallest indication that he might be able to imagine sharing his Mamãe with yet another kid.

Me: Guess what, boys?  Mamãe is going to have another baby!

Luca: Yay!!  But wait, who's the father?  (I should have seen that one coming.)

Dash: No you aren't!!

Me: It's Paul, and yes I am!  I'm growing a baby in my tummy, just like I baked you and Luca in my tummy before you were ready to come out.

Dash: You're just kiddin', Mamãe!  Right?  There isn't a baby in there!

Luca: When will the baby be here?  That was fast!  (Okay, ugh...)

Me: Yes, well, umm...you know...things happen...and Mamãe wasn't trying to have a baby or anything, but umm, sometimes, in life, well, in my life anyway, umm, things happen that I wasn't really planning, and Mamãe is really happy, and so I really hope you guys are, too?

Dash: THERE'S NO BABY IN YOUR TUMMY!  (By this point, he's on his feet in a fit of uncomprehending indignation, given the lack of ANY proof remotely plausible in the head of a four-year-old that there is, in fact, an actual, honest-to-god BABY in my tummy.)

Me: Yes there is!  Where do you think you came from?

Dash: Your sweater.

Now, by the time he came out that day in October of 2006, I had been single and not caring about personal landscaping for almost a year, so things had gotten pretty, umm, wild...down there...in the general region of his egress from my tummy.

Still.  He could have pulled his punch a little bit.