Sophia made an appointment for Desi bright and early the next morning. After a thorough examination, the doctor determined she was as healthy as a horse and developing normally. I guess that just means my child has a nasty streak and needs to work on her manners. Honestly, the whole situation was kind of embarrassing. Of course, I’m not embarrassed by her behavior because all kids have something they need to grow through, especially being only fewer than 48 hours into childhood. However, the entire appointment felt like a judgement against our parenting. I caught every smirk, snide inflection of the voice, and slant of the eye. I hope Desi never gets sick because we are not seeing this doctor ever again.
Winter in San Sequoia is a lot rainier than I remember this year, and we have to spend yet another day inside. I love spending time with my family, of course, but I’m not a homebody and I’m getting a little antsy. My plan was to get started on the tree house, but I’ll have to delay once more. The back porch is covered, so I step outside, hoping not physically being in the house will help. As if on cue, Desiree follows me and hits me with a very unexpected question.
“Daddy? Where do babies come from?”
My first thought is to panic and wonder how and why she’s even asking, but we did just come from the doctor’s office. She probably saw a poster or diagram that piqued her interest. Children her age are very curious about the world because their brains are developing super fast. They have more than just their stomach and entertainment to be concerned about now. Desi is smart, and I don’t want to be the parent who insults her intelligence by talking down to her, deciding what she does and doesn’t understand. Telling her about storks delivering babies to the front door will only confuse her. Besides, how can we develop trust if I lie to her? I’m going to tell her the truth—a very abridged truth, heh.
“Babies? Well… When mommies and daddies love each other, sometimes that love expresses itself in the form of a baby in the mom’s belly. The baby grows in there for a few days, and then it is born.”
I really hope that landed because despite everything I just said, it is waaaaaaay too early for the woohoo talk.
“How does the baby get in there?”
“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh …”
My mind races, and I regret not expecting follow-up questions. I refuse to have the woohoo talk right now, but she deserves an answer. How can I describe it without getting too graphic?
“Do you know how plants grow?” I ask.
She nodded enthusiastically.
“You put a seed in the ground and then you water it and then the plant comes up!”
“That’s right. Mommies’ bellies are like the soil, and daddies have special seeds.”
“You and Mommy love each other. Will she have a baby?”
I have to sit down on that one. It’s not every day I’m reminded of how my body failed me. Failed us. This innocent conversation got super deep really fast, and I need to gather myself before thinking of how to share that story with her.
“We can’t have anymore babies, Des.”
“Why not?”
“Because … My special seeds are … I don’t have anymore.”
“Oh.”
“How does that make you feel? Do you want brothers and sisters like your cousins?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, let me ask this way. Does it bother you being the only child?”
She thought about it for a moment.
“No. I like having you alllllll to myself!”
That’s a relief, but I feel bad forcing her to make that decision. True, me and Sophia are the only ones who can really make that decision, but I hate I made her even think about it.
“I like having you all to myself, too. Well, I have to share with Mommy, of course. You know what I mean.”
“MOMMYYYYY,” she shouted and hopped up from her seat. “Kooper poo poo’d on the porch!”
She goes inside, leaving me with my sad thoughts. I’m glad she’s okay with not having siblings. That certainly makes it easier on my mind. I just hate that I couldn’t give her any. Sophia and I discussed it, and we agreed a singular child is the best thing for our family. Most days, I’m totally fine with that, but the desire to grow our family is still there, hidden deep down in the crevices of my brain. I know it because sometimes it comes out to haunt me, and today it had an open invitation.
