For those of you who know me and who have met my boys, you know that despite our differences in DNA, we are a lot alike, especially in the way we talk and our shared, warped sense of humor. And this new, pregnancy thing has long been fodder for their inquisitive minds.
For example, just a few weeks ago, I was horfing in the bathroom. (Well, that wasn't exclusive to a few weeks ago, but the rest of the story is.) Mid-horf, I hear a little voice from the other side of the door:
"Mommy, awe you okay?"
"Yes, Benny. I'm okay. I'll be out in a minute."
"Don't fwoh up da babies, okay?"
"Okay, Benny. I'll try not to."
Then there was the question that Andy had for me. It was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and a clip of one of his speeches on the radio inspired a breakfast time talk. After discussing the fact that the color of one's skin has no bearing on the quality of their character and that Dr. King's dream wasn't about fighting dragons or swimming in a pool of spaghetti, Andy posed a question:
"If the babies come out black like Dr. King, we're still going to love them, right?"
Yes, my older boy-child actually said this.
"Yes, Andy. Your father might have some questions, but no matter what these babies look like, we're going to love them."
That was said, of course, after my face imploded upon itself from trying to contain the laughter.