Mommy, Where Do Babies Come From?

The other day the fam and I were driving along when the boy dropped the bomb of all bombs.

No, not the bomb he dropped yesterday when he said: “Macy, do you smell something?”

Macy: “No, why?”

Grayson: “Cause I just farted and it’s horrible.”

No, not that bomb, although, that little interaction does illustrate the truth that girls are soooo much smarter than little dudes.

Here’s what I mean.

So, we’re driving along and it’s quiet, which means either there’s some pontification going on, or all holy hell is about to break loose.

This is when pontification reared its ugly head.

Grayson: “Mommy, are you going to have another baby?”

The Wife: “No honey, it’s not possible. I mean, your daddy and I feel that our family is complete with just Macy and you.”

Grayson: “No, I mean, just say you wanted another baby, you would have to re-marry someone, right?”

At that point the wife looks at me and I immediately go into “Look As Though Traffic Is Horrible And You’re Trying To Plow Your Way Through So You Don’t Have To Engage In Conversations With Your Children About Where Babies Come From” look.

Macy: “Grayson!!! Baby’s come from a seed in the mommy’s belly, silly!!”

Grayson: “Macy!! Shhhh. Seriously mommy, if you wanted another baby you’d re-marry someone, right?”

The Wife: “No honey, I would have another baby with your father, but we have decided that we don’t want to expand the family any further. We love Macy and you and our family is perfect!”

Macy: “Grayson, you’re so silly!!! Babies come from seeds in the mommy’s belly. They grow from there.”

Grayson: “Well how do the seeds get there?”

Macy: “I don’t know.”

Grayson: “Mommy?”

The Wife: “Have you been working on your spelling words today Grayson? Cause you have a review test on Friday!”

Grayson: “How does the seed for babies get into the mommy’s belly?”

At this point I’m pulling close to the guy driving in the next lane, motioning for him to roll down his window in the hopes I can sell him on letting me climb into his car for safety.

The Wife: “We’re not going to have anymore brothers or sisters for you kids to let’s rock-out to some Barenaked Ladies!!! Turn it up Dad!!”

Me: “Sounds good!!”

As I turn up the radio…..

Grayson: “I know what you’re doing. At some point I still want to know how the seed gets in the mommy’s belly! I won’t forget that question!”

We have no idea how the girl knew babies come from a “seed.” I’m just glad she doesn’t know how the seed gets there, otherwise I’d have to put on my biker outfit and go stomp some ass somewhere.

But regardless, I’m ready for the boy to bring it back-up so I can tell him where babies come from.

“Son, babies happen when the mommy slips and falls on the ground and the daddy goes to help her up, then slips and falls on top of her. When they get back up the mommy has a seed in her belly and 9 months later a baby is born.

“Now who wants ice cream?!!!”

A Letter On Bondage To My Son's Future Wife

Dear Grayson’s Future Wife:

I’d like to start this rambling batch of mess off with a big “I’m sorry!!”

Actually, I don’t really know why I’m apologizing. Your husband’s the one that really screwed it all up for you!

Let me start from the beginning.

It was a Fall day.

Grayson’s mother-dearest was working from home and it was a holiday which means your fella and his sister, were home taking full advantage of unsupervised hell-raising.

Much quietness fell upon the house.

This was followed by loud banging, crashing….and yes, crying.

Your man’s mom ran down the stairs to find her daughter wrapped in clear masking tape around her ankles, wrists, and waist.

Words flew. An understanding was reached. In short – no more bondage activities were to “EVER” take place again.

An hour passes and again the wife questions the quietness of the house.

Scared out of her mind to go in search of her offspring, she continues to work with a keen-ear to the sky.

Moments later there comes a predicted slam to a wall, followed by the horrific screaming of the boy.

Leaping from her chair she runs towards the sounds of death only to find your dear husband bound by his ankles and wrists with masking tape. His head was resting uncomfortably against the wall.

“I tried to leap the first step mom but I missed and my head slammed into the wall,” was what the dear boy muttered to the wife.

Ten minutes later she managed to finish un-wrapping your husband from his sadistic bondage get-up before calling me.

I immediately suggested she take him to the ER just to make damn sure his claimed “fuzzy eye-sight and muffled hearing” were just an effort to instigate the wrath of our parenthood punishment on the daughter for wrapping the boy up.

After sitting in the ER for an hour your husband’s mother was met with a doctor laughing his ass off as he read the chart detailing why his next “patient” was sitting before him still chaffed from where the tape was ripped off his skin.

The day ended with Grayson properly scared out of his mind and assuring us repeatedly that he’d “never tie anyone up again for the rest of his life!”

So this is why I write to you today.

This is why your dear husband has not and will probably never come home with silk wrist and ankle ties from your favorite naughty store.

This is why your bed posts will remain unscathed from crazy feel-good games.

But hey, he does enjoy getting tickled, warm chocolate milk, and announcing to the entire room when he’s gotta go “boom boom.” So, there’s that!

Better luck in your next lifetime.

Love,

Grayson’s Dad