Henry and I lie in his bed, enjoying one last hug before he slept.
"Do you have a baby in your tummy?" (This is Henry's question du jour these days. I'm hoping it's because we've recently spent time with two very pregnant women and not because I eat fast food and doughnuts everyday.)
"No, baby, I don't." I really hope the conversation ends here. It doesn't.
"Why not?", he queries.
My brilliant answer: "I just don't. Goodnight."
Henry sat in my lap, facing me. He stared at my chest.
"How do you play with boobies?" (Yup--boobies. Ta Tas. Breasts. Melons.)
My words were gone. I offered no response to his query. So I just stared at him like he stared at my chest.
(When I relayed the conversation to Hubby, he did a mental high five with his boy. I just know he did.)