Tummy Talk

No, I'm not pregnant.

But lately there's a focus on tummies in our house. Mostly from Benjamin, though Jonathan's taken to pulling his shirt up and smacking his repeatedly--for comic relief, of course, when he's either in trouble or wanting to distract me.

However, most of the "talk" is coming from Benjamin. How our tummies are feeling, what's in them, how babies get out, what babies eat when they're in the mommy's belly, the relative *mood* of babies while they're in tummies, and so on...
And I repeat: I'm not pregnant.
Nor have I been talking about the possibility of my being pregnant with Benjamin. Nonetheless, several conversations lately have begun the following way:

"Mommy? Do you have a baby in your tummy?"

"Mommy? If you have a girl baby, we'll have to name her Lampstead."

That's right, Lampstead. Not sure if this is a variation on lampshade...or homestead...or perhaps a combination of both--obviously making perfect sense. In any case, it's total nonsense...but, unfortunately, not the kind of nonesense that is ironic in an adorable or innocent way. But rather the kind that makes you reallly wonder WTH is going on in your kids' head.

Anyway. Other memorable conversation starters are as follows:

"Hey Mommay...is your tummy happy in those shorts?"

"Mommy? My tummy really loves this yogurt. It's sooo happy for it."

(as I tell Jonathan that if he doesn't eat his dinner, he's going to bed without a bedtime snack) "Mommy! Jonny's tummy isn't going to be very happy, is it?!"

(or my personal fave, yet no idea why) "Mommy?! After I eat this popsicle, the juice is going to go from my tummy down into my leg...is that right?"
Realizing how not far off he is with his understanding of the digestive tract, etc...I often consider explaining where pee-pee (and the like) comes from...but, in the interest of not confusing things any further, I leave it alone.
Letting him think the juice goes into his leg, that's right.

But then...then...there are the sweet moments. Like when he's going to bed, and he tells me that he's happy inside his tummy. Or when he's feeling brave, he'll tell me that he's "not so sad or scared" in his tummy.
Apparently, Benjamin's tummy is the place to be.
It's the place where all of his emotions are developed, contemplated and resolved. If he's going to come to a conclusion on how he feels about something, his tummy's gonna be involved. I'm starting to get it.

And then today there was the final straw, after we left the pediatrician's office. A moment I wanted to pull the car over and either reach back and hug him, call someone and tell them what he had just said, or even just cry at how precious it was. So I decided today would be the day I'd bring my blog back from the dead.:)

I took the boys into the pediatrician's office with me so I could drop off their health forms (for the day camp at Montreat--our upcoming youth group trip). Benjamin had to use the potty before we left, so we walked around the corner from the front receptionist desk to use the bathroom. As we passed a closed door of one of the doctor's rooms, we heard the worst, most painful and pathetic cries of a little boy...who'd obviously just had shots, or at least wasn't loving his doctor visit. Both of my boys stopped dead in their tracks, deer in headlights, their eyes searching for where the awful sound was coming from--Jonathan more curious than scared, Benjamin the opposite. They both asked, over and over, as we used the potty and made our way out to the car, "Why is that boy crying? Why is he so sad?"...to which I gave several responses, ranging from "Well, sometimes little boys don't feel very well when they come see the doctor and it makes them sad" to "Well, maybe that little boy is getting a shot--you know, you had those when you were a baby and you didn't like them either...but now you're a big boy and you're brave!"
But what I knew was that, for Benjamin, there was less concern over when he might have to endure another shot...or be sick...but rather a sense of empathy for the little boy, and a need to make sense of the whole situation.

Driving out of doctor's office parking lot...on our way to Target.

"Mommy, I think I know why that boy was so sad..." he says.

"Why do you think, Bud?" I say.

"Well, he was sad because he doesn't have God in his tummy."

??????? (me blinking and looking back at him, speechless)

"What, honey?" I ask.

"He doesn't have God in his tummy, Mommy...he doesn't have him in there keeping him safe."

And that is exactly how it happened.
I can't tell you what I said, or in what direction the conversation went from there, because I don't really remember. I'm pretty sure we talked about how no matter how sad we are, or how sick, God is always with us...that kind of stuff...but I can't be sure how much of it got through to him. All I know is that I spent the next few miles committing the whole exchange to memory, so as to write it down (or blog, if you will) later. Definitely one of those moments you want to always remember.

Such empathy in such a small person.
Amazes me all the time...and once in a while, I really am in awe. Not in a proud parent kind of way...no, not like that.
But in gratitude for having his little spirit in my own life, and having the chance to watch it grow.