A lovely relaxing day at home, after a late night and my morning walk, where the kids now refuse to come with me.
Sat around catching up on work, listening to quotes from Captain Underpants books and the inevitable fighting. Broke this up with some attempts to commence Monkey Boy’s baby album (yes, ok only 7 years late, but one must start somewhere!), with the aid of both Monkey Boy and Godzilla.
Decided a nice dinner out would be the go, so off we walked up the street to our local favourite. The kids took their cars and trains to play with during dinner and Grumpy and I attempted some sort of conversation.
Godzilla clearly had something on his mind, and halfway through main he looks at me.
“Mummy? When your tummy got cut and your tummy got a cut in it and wif all the things inside, well, did your breakky fall out?” he asks, with a slight frown.
Once I stopped laughing, I was able to ask what he meant. “You know, when your tummy got cut?”
“In the photo.”
Ahh, the penny drops. I turn to Grumpy. “What did you tell him about him being born?”
Monkey Boy pipes up. “Its ok, I told him. You know the photo of me being born. So, yeah, now he knows.”
Oh goody, from the authority on childbirth himself. I mean, he’s experienced it, so clearly he’s in a position to be handing out the information.
I turn to Godzilla and ask, mostly in an attempt to find out exaclty what Monkey Boy had told him, how my tummy got cut.
“You remember”, he says “remember when you dropped the knife?”
OK, this is just getting weird now.
“But. Did your breakky fall out?”