Aug 24 2009
Future mama… or not
Olivia and I were laying in her bed talking tonight and out of the blue she started asking me these questions:
O: Mom, do I have to get married? Do I have to have babies?
A: Do you want to get married and have babies, Liv?
O: No. I don’t want to go to the hospital. And I don’t like boys except my friends that are boys. Do you like boys? Do you like Jared? I miss Jared.
A: Why don’t you want to go to the hospital?
O: I don’t want the doctor to cut my tummy with a sharp knife. Does it hurt?
A: Well, they numb you first.
O: With medicine? What medicine? Do they give you the medicine before they cut your tummy?
A: Yes, they give you the medicine first. But you don’t have to have your tummy cut with a knife.
O: So how else would the doctor get the baby out?
A: Ummm, well, uhhhh, through your crotch.
O: Really, Mom? Tell me the truth. I don’t think you’re telling the truth. And I’m not letting the doctor cut my crotch or my tummy to get a baby out.
A: Can we discuss this in a few more years and not tonight?
O: Only if I can stay here to live when I’m a grown up. In a big bed like yours. In a big bedroom with no toys.
