Recently, I was lounging at my dad’s house with my boys, being silly—as my boys and I do. We were wrestling around on the ground, having a grand old time tickling and laughing, when my 3-year-old stopped and looked at me.
“Mommy, after I was in your belly, what happened?”
“Well,” I said, picking him up and pulling him toward me, “then I pushed you out really hard like this—HUUUUH! HUUUUUH!”
As I laughingly mimicked birthing screams, I acted as though I was pushing him off of my lap and into the world, and my 3-year-old giggled. “And then you pushed me out of your penis?” he asked.
And that’s when shit got real.
“Listen, you little asshole,” I said, bringing my laughter to a screeching halt so that I could glare at him. “Just because I compare myself to a dude because of my whiskers and deep, husky voice doesn’t mean that you can, too.”
Okay, so that last part didn’t actually happen. But it totally would have, had it been anyone else but one of my two adorable sons who’d said that thing about coming out of my penis. In which case the entire story wouldn’t make sense.