My kid is very cuddly when he wakes up, and often asks me to climb into bed with him. He asks with his sleepy, sweet voice, “Mama, come cuddle with me.” I realize these moments of pure affection will dwindle, and he tends to say very sweet things first thing in the morning, so I always say yes and squeeze in among the stuffed animals and miles of little boy legs. Also, it’s almost like going back to bed, which always feels like a treat.
One recent morning when we were snuggled up, he popped his thumb out of his mouth and said, “Mama, there are eggs in you.”
Here I should pause to say that he understands the rudiments of reproduction: There is an egg and there is sperm and they are mixed together and the baby grows in the mama’s tummy. We’ll cover the details later.
“Yes, there are.” I replied.
“I need you to mix them with some of Daddy’s sperm and grow a new Boo for me to play with.” (This is a verbatim quote — he actually used his nickname.)
Here I should pause to say that for reasons too personal to go into here, this is not going to happen. He is an only child, and unless a baby drops from the sky into my arms, he will remain an only child. And we are all fine and happy with that for the most part.
I made some sort of noncommittal statement like “Oh honey,” playing for time. He stayed silent, thumb back in his mouth, waiting for more information to respond to. Then I said something true but vague like, “We are so happy with just one Boo, sweetheart.”
Amazingly, he did not pepper me with questions or arguments as he usually does. But as I thought about it later, what really struck me was that he isn’t asking for a brother or sister. He’s asking for a carbon copy of himself.
Mama-Come-Lately 