Yesterday, after a long day of teaching lessons both gymnastic in nature and musical, I arrived home with my children in tow to get ready for a night of more lessons. ('look, more lembas bread'. I'm such a nerd)
As I was removing James from the car and moving to get Oliver, he said:
"Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy?"
Stunned, I looked down as he came over to my side, looking at my abdomen with a sweet, soft look on his face.
"No, James. Mommy does not have a baby in her tummy."
Determined that I am not telling the truth, J continues to look at my tummy and then pats it. Gently.
"Yes you do."
"Does it look like I have a baby in my tummy?"
"Yes. You have a baby in your tummy."
It's no longer a question. It's a statement of fact.
To be clear, I am not pregnant.
But my five-year-old certainly thinks I am.
Back to the ol' drawing board. I might need more core work.
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