When you read this, I will be on a plane, somewhere over the Atlantic, returning from my week-long cruise up the Danube from Budapest, Hungary, to Vilshofen, Germany. As I do when I am away from home, I revisit a previous Sundays Are For Sebastian. This one comes from July, 2015, when Seba was six.
Sebastian is my six-year old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
The other day, after completing a very large breakfast, Sebastian started rubbing his belly and posed the following: “Daddy, how are babies made?”
Me: “Ummmm.” [Awkward pause–my wife has ordained that I handle all questions reproductive, but I was not quite ready for the question from my five year-old.] “I will tell you when you are a bit older.”
Seba: “But I want to know now! How are babies made?”
Me: “Ummm, like I said, you will find out when you are a bit older.”
Seba: “When someone has a baby in their belly it looks like they ate a bunch of food–is that how it happens? You eat a lot of food and then a baby comes out?”
Me: “Ummm, not exactly…”
Seba: “Then how?”
Me: “Like I told you–you will find out when you are a bit older.”
Seba: “Does Nathan [his brother] know?”
Me: “Not really.”
[Pause]
Me: “You know, only girls have babies.”
Seba: “Really?”
Me: “Yes.”
[Pause]
Seba: “OK. Never mind.”
the drunken cyclist 