First off, classic Jenna preamble:
Babies are a subject of regular conversation and fascination in our home. When we got our van almost eight months ago, Noah took one look at it and said "We could fit a BIG family in this!" He wasn't even three yet.
Of course, you're familiar with his career goal: an obstetrician in New Brunswick who delivers tiger babies.
He got the word "obstetrician" from me because that day, in September I think, I said I had a stomach ache and needed to sit down, so he decided to play doctor. He looked at me with a most solemn face and said almost accusingly "Do you have a baby in your womb?" I said "no!" wondering what I would have said to him if the answer was 'yes' but we were waiting to tell him for a while.
He sighed and said, "You're supposed to say 'yes'. This is a game, I am your doctor!"
So I explained to him that he could be my GP or my obstetrician, since he was in charge of my prenatal care, and he naturally like the word "obstetrician" more. Then he proceeded to take a stuffed animal and whack me in the abdomen and shout "It's time for the baby to come out!"
(Okay, I am laughing out loud as I type this memory. Also, I wish an induction of labour was as simple as being whacked by a stuffed animal. No pain but lots of laughs!)
Anyway, as he grows more and is beginning to learn more about the world, he is asking more questions about babies and so on. I am kind of looking forward to him asking me where babies come from, but frankly, I don't think he'll ask that any time soon because he already has a good "preschooler" grasp on this -- he knows they come from mommies and daddies, and what further explanation does a three-year-old need? (And he knows the word "umbilical cord" and "womb" and uses them correctly with some frequency.)
On Saturday he asked me if we could have another baby soon. I told him we would have to ask God what He wanted. Then he wanted to know how long a baby needed to grow in my womb. When I told him it takes 9 months, he said "well I will pray it only takes 3 months!" (For the record, he uses the number '9' like the Bible uses 40 or 7. Very long. As in "We aren't leaving this place in five minutes! I want NINE minutes!")
And then, my friends. It got cuter.
He said "I have been thinking over some baby names for a while now."
"Okay Noah, I'll write them down." And then he proceeded to list all the siblings he thinks we should give him:
- Isaiah (we should have another of each, apparently)
- Gianna Molla
- Jimbo (after his grandfather. I don't think he knew my dad's actual name is James!)
Then when I asked him "Where will the new baby sleep?" he replied, "In the living room. Daddy and I will make lots of cribs and they will fill the whole living room!"
And the picture I alluded to? He asked me to draw each of these eleven (11!) additional brothers and sisters he wants us to have, label them and place it on the fridge.
That picture, my friends, he called "our Family Game Plan."