My four year old is seldom at a loss for words, but our one-sided conversation on the way to the “Chik-Fil-A by the highway” last night nearly made me wreck my car as I grabbed pen and paper to get his words down. So without further ado-a typical car ride with my child. (I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to my mother and say, “I get it now!”)
Perfectionist <sigh>: I just wub my pillow pet. I wish I had a pillow pet when I was a kid..when I was 3.
Perfectionist: Mommy, when I’m a grown up, how will I get clothes?
Me: You will go to the store and buy them.
Perfectionist: But HOW? I don’t have much money.
Me: Well, you will have a job and use the money to buy clothes.
Perfectionist: Hmm..I don’t know. Can’t you go buy them for me while I stay home?
Me: Well, I guess so if you want me to.
Perfectionist: Oh I want you to. I will just stay home and be the other daddy in our family. BUT we won’t have any more babies.
Me: Well, that would probably be good.
Perfectionist: Unless we get another mommy! Mommy? Does Nonie have a baby in her tummy? (Nonie is my 70 yr. old post menopausal mother)
Me <relieved that we surpassed incest and bigamy unscathed>: Uh, no. She doesn’t.
Perfectionist: WHY? I thought the girls had the babies in der tummies.
Me <not enjoying the re-visit of babies AT ALL>: Hmm..only when it’s time.
Perfectionist: Some boys have babies in der tummies.
Me: Oh I don’t think so.
Perfectionist: THEY DO. Isabel’s daddy has a baby in his tummy. We need to go to her house.
Me: Are you sure? I don’t think so.
Perfectionist: Uh-huh. She told the teacher so SEE some boys do have babies in der tummies.
Me <sensing the need to retreat>: Ohhhh-kay.
Perfectionist: Mommy…I’m your baby but I’m not in your tummy. I’m just your baby.
Me: Yes you are.
I really wish Chick-Fil-A served alcohol.