Fat, Black, Baby Sister

Tonight Flea’s BFF is staying all night with us (the son of Ape and The Cop from my previous “Deer” blog). He’s an awesome kid so we love having him around. In fact, Hubbit suggested he stay two nights with us and practically wept (my story…my version) when the kid said he had to visit his grandparent’s tomorrow night and just couldn’t. Poor Hubbit felt the rejection.

Hubbit says when this particular friend of Flea’s is over, it makes him think we should have had a third child.

Pshaw!

OF COURSE he’d think this, considering several things:

1) He never had to carry or deliver his not-so-mini-me 10 pound, 3 ounce spawn. Talk about uncomfortable!

2) He’s forgetting this friend of Flea’s is 11 years old. Sure, it might be nice to get a nice and polite preteen son just delivered to our door step, looking for a family to join. Wouldn’t it be lovely to “come upon” one that was already properly parented, was mannerly and got good grades? But, does that happen in any world other than Hubbit’s La-La Land? Um. NO.

3) Even if we had a baby (which WON’T be happening), what are the chances he would be a cool kid and not some annoying whiner? Ugh, whiners are THE WORST. I say “he” because I’ve always known deep within my baby-producing-gut, I am not meant to be a mother to a girl. I am a woman who would spit out 10 boys, trying for that prized girl. Forget that! I would tell you why I think this is, but then I might sound a little pathetic and immature. All I’ll say is I’m pretty sure I am the only princess that should ever reign in our house.

Of course, Bug is no help to this matter right now. He has always hated babies. I mean, HATED them. Even when he was as young as two, if another baby cried in a restaurant or store, he’d start screaming, “HUSH BABY, HUSH”, which was usually not as funny to the parent of the screaming baby as it was to me.

Hubbit and I talked just today about how both of our kids were 5 going on 25. They act, think and speak like they are little adults (more Flea than Bug), which is sometimes good and sometimes odd. Obviously, they take after their fantabulous mother, because Hubbit is amazingly 34 going on 12.

How does that happen?!

Anyhow, my point to the story is lately Bug has been begging for a baby sister. Of course, not just any baby sister, but a “fat, black, baby sister”. (FYI: This kid does have great taste. See adorably-squeezable attached blog photo for proof.)

He even asked for one for Christmas, along with a set of boobs (Don’t ask). Regardless, the request for a fat, black, baby sister was quite the improvement from what he requested last year. Let’s just say he felt the South American construction workers around our neighborhood might be useful to have around, to “help with stuff”. I’m trying to be as politically correct as possible here, but how on Earth do you make your child’s request for a “Mexican” for Christmas sound anything less than completely racist? Not to worry. Hubbit and I set him completely straight and hopefully we can all chalk that up as a “Teaching Moment”.

Back to the story…

I tried to tell him Mommy was in no way going to have another baby and the various reasons why a baby would be not-great for our family. It’s funny because I imagine other parents trying to give an exact opposite speech to their older children after learning they’re going to be parents again. Instead of telling Bug about how a baby would be great, I am likely giving him psychological trauma for the future by telling him why a baby WOULDN’T be great. When he’s 35 and I’m begging for grandchildren he doesn’t want to have (due to the fact he “somehow” thinks they would be bad for his life), I may regret this.

Of course, the only part he really heard through his little 7-year-old ears was that I physically could not have a baby any longer. So, his solution was adoption. I had a quick comeback, saying adoption was extremely expensive and not an option for our family at this time.

He was devastated and spent the next hour screaming, “I want a fat, black, baby sister”, that as time went on and he grew more and more tired, changed into a cry of only the words, “fat…black…baby…(sob)…fat…black…baby…(sob)”. It was both hysterical and sad at the same time.

So, this has me really thinking…

Instead of my biological-clock-ticking-hormone-time-bombs going off, making me THINK we need another baby, it’s actually Hubbit’s and Bug’s trying to make waves in my otherwise-really-great life. Who knew a 34-year-old man and 7 year-old-boy were capable of those feelings?!

Regardless, since we all know who’s in charge of this household (wink, wink) there’s no need to worry about the sounds of little footsteps anytime in the near future…although a fat, black, baby sister does sound kind of sweet!

Whitney

Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it. (Marshall McLuhan)